THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

PRESENTED  BY 

PROF.  CHARLES  A.  KOFOID  AND 
MRS.  PRUDENCE  W.  KOFOID 


BACHELOR  BLUFF: 


HIS    OPINIONS,    SENTIMENTS, 
AND   DISPUTATIONS. 


BY 

OLIVER   BELL   BUNCE. 


NEW  YORK : 

D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY, 
i,  3,  AND   5   BOND   STREET. 

1881. 


COPYRIGHT    BY 

OLIVER    B.    BUNCE. 
1881. 


HABITUAL  readers  of  "Appletons*  Journal,"  who 
may  chance  upon  this  volume,  will  find  in  it  many 
things  with  which  they  are  already  familiar  ;  but 
they  will  also  discover  that  many  changes  have 
been  made  —  that  with  a  few  exceptions  the  ma 
terial  has  been  rearranged,  extended,  newly  com 
bined,  and  otherwise  considerably  altered.  There 
are  indisputably  numerous  old  pieces  in  the  patch 
work,  but  the  fresh  combinations  make  the  patterns 
almost  new. 


M313945 


"REMEMBER"  said  Bachelor  Bluff,  "that  Truth  com 
monly  goes  in  rttsset  and  Error  in  p^lrple.  The  sober 
judgment  which  can  not  be  seduced  by  the  glitter  of 
false  ideas  hides  itself  in  by-ways  among  slow,  humdrum 
people,  while  Error  envelops  itself  in  alluring  sophistries 
that  captivate  brilliant  men  and  women.  Do  not  deny 
this  until  you  have  well  thought  of  it,  and  then  you  will 
not  deny  it" 

"  HA  VE  I  BORROWED  !  "  exclaimed  the  Bachelor.  "From 
everything  and  everywhere,  to  the  best  of  my  ability ; 
from  life  in  its  varied  forms,  and  from  those  open  res 
ervoirs  of  stolen  learning  called  books.  He  is  richest  in 
this  world  who  borrows  most.  Let  all  men  be  intel 
lectual  highwaymen,  waylaying  ideas  everywhere,  appro 
priating  facts  in  all  directions,  and  plundering  every 
circumstance  of  its  significant  meaning" 

"  WHA  T  is  TO  BE  LEARNED  /  Whether  a  man  learns 
or  not,  sir,  depends  ttpon  the  sensitiveness  of  the  chemical 
plate  called  his  brain.  There  are  brain-plates  upon  which 
everything  impresses  a  permanent  image ;  others,  that 
catch  only  faint  and  feeble  impressions  ;  and  still  others, 


that  distort  every  object  cast  upon  them.  There  are  peo 
ple,  sir,  who  learn  readily,  people  who  learn  little,  and 
people  who  begin  by  knowing  nothing,  and  go  on  accu 
mulating  ignorance  to  the  end  of  their  days" 

"  WHAT  ARE  OPINIONS,  AFTER  ALL,"  muttered  Mr. 
Bluff,  "but  imperfect  knowledge?  We  do  not  have  opin 
ions  about  the  multiplication-table  or  the  equinoxes.  An 
opinion  is  simply  an  angle  of  rejection,  or  the  facet  which 
one's  individuality  presents  to  a  subject,  measuring  not 
the  whole  nor  many  parts  of  it,  but  the  dimensions  of 
the  reflecting  surface.  It  is  something,  perhaps,  if  the 
reflection  within  its  limits  is  a  true  one" 


CONTENTS. 


i. — INTRODUCING  MR.  BLUFF        .  .  .  .9 

ii. — MR.  BLUFF  ON  DOMESTIC  BLISS  ...  13 

in. — MR.  BLUFF'S  THEORY  OF  POETRY     .  .  .31 

iv. — MR.  BLUFF'S  IDEAL  OF  A  HOUSE  .  .  52 

v. — MR.  BLUFF  ON  FEMININE  TACT  AND  INTUITIONS  .    68 

vi. — MR.  BLUFF  ON  REALISM  IN  ART  .  .          84 

vii. — MR.    BLUFF    DISCOURSES    OF    THE    COUNTRY    AND 

KINDRED  THEMES    .  .  .  .  .99 

viii. — MR.  BLUFF  ON  THE  PRIVILEGES  OF  WOMEN      .         120 
ix. — MR.  BLUFF  ON  MODERN  FICTION      .  .  .139 

x. — SOME  OF  MR.  BLUFF'S  POLITICAL  NOTIONS       .         158 
xi. — MR.  BLUFF  AS  AN  ARITHMETICIAN    .  .  .178 

xii. — MR.  BLUFF'S  MEDITATIONS  IN  AN  ART-GALLERY        185 
xiii. — MR.  BLUFF  ON  MELANCHOLY       .  .  .205 

xiv. — MR.  BLUFF  ON  MORALS  IN  LITERATURE  AND   NU 
DITY  IN  ART.  .....  219 

xv. — MR.  BLUFF  AS  A  CRITIC  ON  DRESS        .  .         237 

xvi. — MR.  BLUFF  ON  SUNDRY  TOPICS         .  .  .  249 

xvn. — MR.  BLUFF'S  EXPERIENCES  OF  HOLIDAYS          .         277 


BACHELOR   BLUFF. 


INTRODUCING   MR.    BLUFF. 

MR.  ORACLE  BLUFF,  who  is  commonly  known 
among  his  friends  and  acquaintances  as  Bachelor 
Bluff,  because  of  a  disposition  on  his  part  to  dwell 
upon  his  experiences  as  a  bachelor,  and  among  scof 
fers  as  Old  Chatter  Bluff,  is  a  gentleman  indisputably 
fond  of  talking,  and  very  much  inclined  to  believe 
that  his  opinions  cover  all  the  law  and  the  facts.  He 
is  a  gentleman  whose  years  have  reached  sixty,  whose 
figure  is  somewhat  portly,  who  carries  upon  his  shoul 
ders  a  handsome,  well-poised  head,  covered  with  scant 
silver  locks.  He  has  a  broad  brow,  an  ample,  close- 
shaved  chin,  and  a  mouth  which,  though  flexible,  has 
as  its  general  expression  set  lines  indicative  of  a  posi 
tive  and  downright  character.  His  eyes  are  bright 
and  restless,  full  of  varying  expression,  sometimes 
flashing  fire,  and  capable  of  sending  furious  glances 


10  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

a.t  opponents,  or  of  bending  upon  presumptuous  dis 
putants  a  look  of  overwhelming  severity,  and  yet  they 
have  been  known  upon  occasions  to  melt  into  tender 
ness  at  some  pathetic  story. 

Mr.  Bluff  has  read  a  few  books,  glanced  at  a  few 
pictures,  traveled  a  little,  and  seen  something  of 
life;  and,  believing  himself  to  have  accumulated  a 
store  of  observation,  is  disposed  to  utter  an  opin 
ion  upon  almost  any  subject  that  may  be  broached. 
It  must  be  conceded  that  these  opinions  are  not 
commonly  borrowed,  nor  yet  do  they  affect  origi 
nality.  They  are  usually  the  product  of  at  least  a 
half-hour's  meditation,  it  being  Mr.  Bluff's  habit  to 
look  penetratingly  into  any  theme  that  comes  be 
fore  him,  with  the  purpose  of  discovering  its  true 
significance. 

Mr.  Bluff  thinks  himself  wholly  logical  in  all  that 
he  says.  He  exhibits  great  confidence  in  his  own 
powers  of  penetration.  He  seems,  indeed,  to  think 
that  it  is  his  special  mission  to  expose  sophistries,  put 
shams  to  rout,  and  establish  everything  on  a  level 
basis  of  sane  reason.  He  is  disposed  to  believe  that 
he  possesses  wide  intellectual  sympathies,  and  no 
doubt  indulgent  listeners  acknowledge  the  range  of 
his  topics  even  if  they  sometimes  question  the  fullness 
of  his  intellectual  comprehension.  He  prides  himself 
on  his  discernment  and  common-sense,  but  his  com- 


INTRODUCING  MR.  BLUFF.  \\ 

mon-sense  is  sometimes  colored  with  a  few  tints  of 
imagination.  He  is  doubtless  a  little  prone  to  Phi 
listinism,  the  defect  of  nearly  all  robust  thinkers,  but 
he  is  not  without  sympathy  for  poetical  and  imagina 
tive  things.  He  is  unfortunately  a  little  deficient  in 
humor — not  that  he  can  not  enjoy  a  good  joke,  but 
he  rarely  ventures  to  perpetrate  one.  He  does  not 
usually  see  things  on  their  comic  side,  and  would 
be  very  likely  to  argue  that  the  comic  side  of  things 
is  a  distorted  and  falsified  side,  but  he  can  distin 
guish  the  comic  from  the  joyous  and  cheerful,  and 
he  often  exhibits  impatience  at  lachrymose  views  of 
life.  Whatever  else  he  may  be  he  is  at  least  honest, 
and  frankly  expresses  just  what  he  thinks,  so  that, 
whatever  crotchets  he  may  utter,  they  are  heartily 
believed  in  by  himself  if  by  no  one  else. 

Mr.  Bluff's  great  fault  is  a  determination  always  to 
do  the  greater  part  of  the  talking.  He  is  the  worst 
listener  at  his  club,  or  in  any  circle  where  he  chances 
to  be ;  but  fortunately  his  listeners  are  generally  good- 
natured,  and  gracefully  permit  him  to  ramble  on,  con 
tenting  themselves  with  stimulating  his  utterances  by 
throwing  in  remarks  whenever  there  is  indication  that 
the  conversation  will  flag.  A  very  little  mild  contra 
diction,  or  an  adroit  suggestion,  is  all  that  is  necessary 
to  set  the  old  gentleman  off  afresh  on  a  new  vein  of 
argument  and  illustration  ;  and  when  his  listeners  are 


12  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

tired  of  his  discourse  they  quietly  slip  away,  leaving 
him  in  possession  of  the  field,  even  if  not  wholly  vic 
torious  in  the  argument. 

This  is  Bachelor  Bluff.  Talkative  as  he  is,  he  is 
rather  liked  at  his  club  ;  and  it  is  to  be  hoped  that 
his  reputation  will  not  suffer  by  an  enlargement  of 
his  circle  of  listeners. 


II. 
MR.    BLUFF   ON    DOMESTIC    BLISS. 

(At  Mr.  Blu/'s  Bachelor  Apartments) 

BACHELOR  BLUFF, 
Mr.  CARRIWAY, 
Mr.  AUGER. 

"  As  I  am  an  old  bachelor,"  exclaimed  Bach 
elor  Bluff,  with  an  air  as  if  he  rather  liked 
the  imputation,  "  and  generally  esteemed  a  very 
crusty  one,  my  ideas  about  domestic  bliss  are  pos 
sibly  considered  of  no  moment.  Not  that  I  think 
so  for  my  own  part;  indeed,  I  am  convinced  that 
the  opinions  I  entertain  on  this  subject  are  sound, 
dispassionate,  and  such  as  to  commend  them  to  all 
unprejudiced  judges.  I  am  aware,  of  course,  that  all 
old  bachelors  are  supposed  to  see  things  with  jaun 
diced  eyes  only;  but  the  real  truth  is,  they  are  un 
biased  'lookers-on  in  Vienna,'  see  what  others  can 
not  see,  and  penetrate  through  disguises  by  which 
others  are  deceived.  And  it  has  been  so  long  the 
fashion  to  suppose  that  domestic  bliss  is  something 
which  bachelors  neither  understand  nor  appreciate — 


14  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

a  sort  of  sacred  felicity  that  their  obdurate  hearts 
have  not  the  virtue  to  embrace — that  I  am  the  more 
ready  to  utter  my  notions  on  the  subject,  just  to  show 
that,  after  all,  the  entrance  into  this  charmed  circle 
is  not  necessarily  through  the  marriage-ring." 

Bachelor  Bluff  paused,  drummed  for  a  few  mo 
ments  on  his  chair-arm,  and  then,  finding  that, 
while  no  one  contradicted  him,  every  one  looked 
as  if  he  were  expected  to  go  on,  resumed : 

"Now,  a  captious  and  unhandsome  fellow  might 
ask  if  there  really  is  such  a  thing  as  domestic  bliss, 
except  in  dreams.  Are  not  the  usual  attempts  to 
secure  this  social  ignis  fatuus,  he  would  ask,  marred 
by  perversity  of  temper,  opposition  of  ideas,  and 
that  general  selfishness  which  the  seclusion  and 
abandon  of  home  bring  often  so  conspicuously  to  the 
surface  ?  No  doubt  these  questions  would  be  perti 
nent  in  view  of  the  kind  of  domestic  bliss  that 
commonly  survives  the  arrangement  known  as  mat 
rimony;  but  the  questioner  would  be  inspired  with 
another  feeling  were  he  to  turn  his  regards  upon 
that  depreciated  class  known  as  old  bachelors.  As 
an  illustration  of  the  comparative  felicities,  in  a 
domestic  way,  between  the  two  conditions,  let  me 
draw  a  parallel,  suggested  by  recent  experience  of 
my  own — that  is,  if  I  shall  not  bore  you." 

"  Go  on  !  go  on  !  "  exclaimed  all  his  listeners. 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  DOMESTIC  BLISS.  15 

"  It  was  only  three  weeks  ago  that  I  accepted  an 
invitation  to  spend  two  days  with  my  friend  Appleby. 
Appleby  is  married.  He  has  a  wife — most  married 
men  have,  you  will  say ;  but  Appleby's  wife  makes 
him,  as  it  were,  many  times  married.  Her  presence, 
her  individuality,  her  temper,  her  ideas,  her  wishes, 
her  inches,  surround  and  multiply  upon  him  on  all 
sides.  Appleby  has  no  room  in  his  own  house,  and 
a  very  small  corner  in  the  outside  world,  so  com 
pletely  does  Mrs.  Appleby  fill  the  boundaries  of  Mr. 
Appleby's  sphere,  and  crush  him  into  diminutiveness. 

"  I  shall  not  soon  forget  the  scene  I  beheld  the 
first  morning  that  I  entered  Appleby's  breakfast- 
room.  In  the  first  place,  it  faced  the  north.  This 
in  itself  is  an  evil.  Then  it  was  warmed  economi 
cally  by  stray  heat  coaxed  away  from  the  kitchen- 
range  below,  and  persuaded  to  diffuse  itself  within 
this  circle  of  domestic  bliss — which  it  ordinarily  failed 
to  do.  This  was  simply  an  abomination.  A  break 
fast-room  not  cheered  in  winter  by  a  bright  blaze  is 
unworthy  a  place  amid  the  domestic  virtues.  What 
more  enlivening  experience  is  there  than  that  of  com 
ing  down  in  the  morning  to  a  bright,  cheery  break 
fast-room,  in  summer  glad  with  the  morning  sun,  in 
winter  flushing  and  sparkling  in  the  light  of  an  open 
fire  ?  But  this  deficiency  was  not  all.  Appleby's 
breakfast-room — it  is  a  representative  breakfast-room, 


16  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

and  for  this  reason  I  select  it — was  hung  with  var 
nished  paper,  and  furnished  with  oak  chairs  and  an 
oaken  buffet.  Upon  the  walls  were  a  few  black,  old- 
fashioned  prints,  gloomy  in  wooden  frames.  The 
floor  was  covered  with  an  oak  -  colored  carpet,  be 
cause  that  cheerless  color  will  not  show  crumbs. 
The  window-curtains  were — but  there  were  no  win 
dow  -  curtains.  The  room  was  adorned  in  this  par 
ticular  with  buff-tinted  shades  only.  This  was  Apple- 
by's  breakfast-room,  all  garnished  and  beautified  in 
the  fine  spirit  and  under  the  perfect  domination  of 
'  domestic  bliss.'  And  to  this  breakfast-room  came 
Mr.  Appleby  in  slovenly  dressing-gown  and  slovenly 
slippers,  Mrs.  Appleby  in  an  old  shawl  and  curl-pa 
pers,  and  several  young  Applebys  all  in  tumult  and 
snarling  disorder.  In  this  cheerless  room,  half-light 
ed,  dull  for  want  of  cheerful  tints  in  the  furniture, 
and  for  lack  of  a  blaze  on  the  hearth,  arranged  pur 
posely  for  a  hurried  and  comfortless  matutinal  meal, 
the  '  domestic  bliss '  of  the  Applebys  showed  itself  in 
a  hundred  irritabilities.  And  yet  Appleby  is  always 
boasting  about  his  matrimonial  felicities.  He  never 
fails  to  introduce  in  our  intercourse  the  subject  of  my 
bachelor  loneliness  and  discomfort,  and  honestly  won 
ders  why  I  do  not  set  up  in  my  bachelor  quarters  a 
Mrs.  Bluff  (in  curl-papers  and  faded  silk,  I  suppose), 
for  the  sake  of  companionship,  and  domestic  comfort, 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  DOMESTIC  BLISS.  17 

and  all  that.      So  much  for   a  breakfast   under   the 
special  dominion  of  feminine  government. 

Now,  it  was  only  three  days  after  my  break 
fast  with  the  Applebys,  that  I  went  to  breakfast 
with  genial  John  Bunker.  Jack  Bunker  is  a  whole- 
souled  fellow,  who  knows  when  a  thing  is  recherche, 
and  who  has  the  wit  to  appreciate  a  bit  of  bachelor 
felicity.  He  always  breakfasts  in  his  library — this  be 
ing  the  name  his  man  James  gives  to  his  book-room — 
where  he  has  a  few  books,  a  few  pictures,  and  gathers 
all  the  little  tasteful  articles  that  he  owns — a  vase  or 
two,  a  statuette,  a  rare  print,  a  bit  of  china,  all  of  which 
he  tones  up  with  warm  upholstery.  I,  for  my  own 
part,  like  to  eat  in  my  best  apartment ;  to  partake  of 
my  meals  under  the  pleasantest  and  most  enlivening 
conditions.  Eating  and  drinking  is  with  me  a  fine 
art.  That  '  good  digestion  may  wait  on  appetite  and 
health  on  both,'  I  put  my  mind  in  its  sweetest,  its 
calmest,  its  most  contented  mood,  by  means  of  all 
the  agreeable  surroundings  I  can  command.  Hence  I 
looked  around  Jack  Bunker's  cozy  apartment,  tasting 
all  the  points.  There  was  a  glowing  blaze  from  bitu 
minous  coal  in  the  low,  polished  grate.  On  a  brass 
pendant  stood  the  shining  coffee-pot,  from  which  is 
sued  low,  murmuring  music  and  delicious  odors.  The 
firelight  was  glancing  up  on  the  picture-frames,  and 
the  gilt  backs  of  the  books,  on  the  warm-tinted  walls 


18  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

and  the  ceiling,  and  on  drapery  that  fell  over  the 
doorway,  and  partly  shut  out  partly  let  in  at  the 
windows  the  bright  glances  of  light  from  the  morning 
sun.  Then  the  brilliant  white  cloth  on  the  table,  and 
the  easy-chairs  for  host  and  guest,  and  a  new  picture 
only  sent  home  the  day  before  standing  on  an  easel 
near,  and  the  morning  paper  warming  by  the  fire — 
well,  it  was  a  pleasant  picture.  Jack  rubbed  his  hands, 
evidently  enjoying  the  air  of  comfort,  brightness,  and 
warmth,  that  filled  the  whole  space,  and  delighted  with 
my  appreciation  of  it  all ;  and  sat  himself  down  in  his 
cozy  chair,  and  invited  me  to  mine,  and  looked  around 
at  the  books  and  the  pictures,  and  hoped  I  was 
pleased. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  describe  the  breakfast  further. 
My  sole  purpose  has  been  to  draw  two  pictures,  in 
order  to  show  that  domestic  bliss  is  not  better  under 
stood  or  oftener  realized  by  Benedicks  than  bachelors. 
But  no  doubt  some  one  will  ask  why  all  these  condi 
tions  of  domestic  happiness  are  not  possible  with 
*  lovely  women  '  to  enhance  the  bliss  of  the  scene." 

"  But  think,"  said  young  Carriway,  who  had  a 
weakness  for  sentiment — "  think  of  some  beautiful 
creature  sitting  by  the  side  of  the  urn,  serving  your 
coffee,  applauding  your  pictures,  listening  to  you  as 
you  read  a  bit  of  news  from  the  morning  journal ;  per 
haps,  with  her  hands  in  yours,  or  with  her  dainty  foot 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  DOMESTIC  BLISS.  19 

on  the  fender,  chatting  with  you  softly  but  joyously 
over  many  pleasant  themas." 

"  Humph !  "  replied  Bluff,  "  it  must  be  admitted  that 
this  is  a  pretty  picture.  But  what  if  the  '  lovely  wom 
an  '  comes  down  to  the  breakfast-room  frouzy  and 
fierce  ?  What  if  she  appears  in  a  dressing-gown  and 
curl-papers  ?  What  if  she  has  a  chronic  fondness  for 
dhhabilMt  What  if  she  prove  one  of  those  whose 
nerves  never  get  calm  or  in  accord  until  after  the 
morning  is  well  passed  ?  In  my  bachelor-home,  do 
mestic  bliss  is  mine,  beyond  doubt ;  if  I  open  the  door 
to  a  *  lovely  woman,'  there  is  no  telling  what  Pandora's 
box  I  shall  uncover.  Besides,  it  is  a  conviction  of 
mine  that  refined  and  perfect  domestic  comfort  is  un 
derstood  by  men  only." 

"  Heresy  !  heresy  !  "  exclaimed  half  a  dozen  voices 
at  once. 

"  Heresy  it  may  be,  but  my  opinion  is  well-grounded 
for  all  that.  Women  are  not  personally  selfish  enough 
to  be  fastidious  in  these  things.  They  are  usually  neat 
to  circumspection ;  but  it  is  a  cheerless  and  aggressive 
neatness — moral  and  inflammatory  rather  than  luxuri 
ous  and  artistic.  They  are  neat  because  they  consti 
tutionally  hate  dust,  not  because  neatness  is  important 
to  their  own  selfish  comfort.  Women  are  rarely  epi 
cureans.  They  have  no  keen  enjoyment  of  eating  and 
drinking,  in  dreams  and  laziness ;  they  do  not  under- 


20  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

stand  intellectual  repose.  It  is  not  the  quiet,  the 
serenity,  the  atmosphere  of  home,  that  they  at  heart 
care  about.  Give  a  woman  a  new  ribbon,  and  she  will 
go  without  her  dinner.  Promise  her  a  ball,  and  she 
will  sit  nightly  for  a  month  in  a  fireless  room,  muffled 
up  in  a  shawl,  and  never  murmur.  She  is  fond  of 
dress,  not  of  comfort ;  of  decoration,  not  of  peace  ;  of 
excitement,  not  felicity.  And  then,  moreover,  she  is 
too  willing  to  be  ill-at-ease ;  too  easily  satisfied  in  all 
those  things  that  pertain  to  personal  comfort,  and  is 
far  too  much  disposed  to  make  the  best  of  every  thing, 
to  enter  fully  into  the  necessity  of  creating  domestic 
comfort.  She  likes  home  because  there  she  has  au 
thority,  there  she  receives  her  friends  and  shows  her 
furniture,  there  she  can  give  parties,  and  thereby  get 
invitations  to  other  parties.  When  matrimony  intro 
duces  a  man  to  rechercht  breakfasts,  to  perfect  little 
dinners,  to  delightful  social  evenings,  to  perfectly- 
appointed  parlors,  then  I  shall  believe  that  true  do 
mestic  bliss  is  feminine  in  conception." 

"To  my  mind,"  remarked  Auger,  a  grave  doctor  of 
laws,  "  your  notions  about  domestic  bliss  are  dangerous 
and  revolutionary.  They  will  be  construed  into  argu 
ments  against  marriage;  and  marriage,  you  know,  is 
the  great  conserver  of  public  morality,  and  the  great 
promoter  of  public  welfare." 

"  But   if    I   once    succeed,"   retorted    Bluff,   "  in 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  DOMESTIC  BLISS.  2\ 

showing  womankind  that  our  domestic  comfort  is 
not,  as  society  goes,  a  necessary  consequence  of 
marriage,  the  whole  sex  will  set  at  work  to  make  it 
so." 

"  No  doubt,"  Auger  replied,  "  if  woman  had 
reason  to  believe  that  she  did  not  bestow  this 
boon  upon  man,  she  would  be  sure  to  seek  out  the 
way  to  secure  for  him  the  felicity  she  knows  so  well 
how  to  appreciate  for  herself." 

"  Now,  there  you  are  wrong,"  exclaimed  Bluff. 
"  Women  have  no  true  appreciation  of  this  domestic 
felicity,  even  while  they  have  remained  calm  in  the 
assurance  that  men,  hungering  for  the  peace  of 
home,  must  come  to  them  for  it.  They  have,  with 
very  great  egotism,  scorned  with  a  supreme  scorn 
the  idea  of  men  being  able  to  have  anything  or 
derly,  neat,  or  tasteful,  around  them  without  women 
to  supply  the  conditions.  They  have  carried  this 
idea  so  far  as  to  look  upon  celibacy  as  not  only  a 
cheerless  thing,  but  as  by  necessary  implication  a 
wicked  thing ;  and  yet  instead  of  women  being,  as 
they  suppose,  the  source  of  domestic  bliss,  they  are 
radically  and  constitutionally  its  obstacles  and  ene 
mies." 

"  There  could  be  no  home  without  women,"  ex 
claimed  Carriway,  with  great  warmth. 

"  I   shall   not   quote   history,"   replied   the   Bach- 


22  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

elor,  coolly,  "  to  show  that  domesticity  in  women 
has  always  been  enforced ;  that  in  Eastern  coun 
tries  it  is  secured  by  compelled  seclusion ;  that  in 
all  times  it  has  been  the  tyranny  of  man  which  has 
subjected  her  to  the  boundary  of  home  :  but  I  will 
simply  give  you  a  reason  or  two  why  in  the  nature 
of  things  women  have  not  the  keen  sympathy  with 
domestic  felicity  that  men  have — that  is,  if  you  care 
to  hear  them." 

"Go  on." 

"  Men  and  women,  as  a  consequence  of  their 
distinct  daily  occupations,  have  very  different  aspi 
rations  and  expectations  in  regard  to  matrimony. 
How  many  of  our  young  women,  for  instance,  think 
of  domestic  well-being  as  the  desired  end  of  mar 
riage  ?  Do  they  not  contemplate  the  gayeties  rather 
than  the  serenities  which  marriage  is  to  assure 
them  ?  Are  not  their  marriage-dreams  of  balls,  of 
parties,  of  the  opera,  of  visiting,  of  traveling  ?  of 
carriages,  dresses,  jewels,  household  splendor?  of 
social  success,  and  the  triumph  of  position  at 
tained  ?  Instead  of  Lares  and  Penates,  do  they 
not  dream  of  the  dazzle  and  the  dash  of  life  ? 
And  this  is  a  natural  consequence  of  their  peculiar 
position.  Marriage  is  to  give  them  their  career, 
and  hence  within  it  center  all  their  ambitions,  all 
their  hopes,  all  the  largeness  of  their  future.  But, 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  DOMESTIC  BLISS.  23 

with  man,  marriage  is  something  very  different. 
Men  are  out  in  the  world,  busy  in  the  great  battle 
of  life  —  absorbed  in  its  contests,  filled  sometimes 
with  the  triumph  of  success,  and  sometimes  with 
the  chagrin  of  defeat.  Spurred  by  the  stern  neces 
sity  of  achieving,  they  have  surrendered  all  their 
energies  to  the  struggle ;  they  are  busy  with  strata 
gems  and  manoeuvres,  keenly  occupied  with  hopes 
and  anxieties,  and  sometimes  even  struggling  des 
perately  against  ruin.  This  is  the  life  of  the  man  ; 
and  this  stirring  career  away  from  home  renders 
home  to  him  necessary  as  a  place  of  repose,  where 
he  may  take  off  his  armor,  relax  his  strained  atten 
tion,  and  surrender  himself  to  perfect  rest. 

"  But  home  is  not  this  to  a  woman.  It  is  not 
her  retreat,  but  her  battle-ground.  She  does  not 
fly  to  its  shelter  as  an  escape  from  defeat  or  for  a 
temporary  lull ;  it  is  her  arena,  her  boundary,  her 
sphere.  To  a  woman  the  house  is  life  militant ;  to 
a  man  it  is  life  in  repose.  She  at  home  is  armed 
with  all  her  energies ;  he  at  home  has  thrown  down 
his  arms.  She  has  no  other  sphere  for  her  activi 
ties:  ordering  her  household,  subduing  its  rebellions, 
directing  its  affairs,  make  up  her  existence.  She 
bustles,  she  stirs,  she  controls,  she  directs,  she  ex 
hausts  herself  in  its  demands,  and  then  seeks  for 
recreation  and  rest  elsewhere.  *  I  am  wearied,' 


24  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

says  the  husband ;  '  let  me  sit  by  the  fire  and 
smoke,  and  dream,  and  rest.'  '  I  am  wearied,'  says 
the  wife ;  '  let  me  be  refreshed  by  a  visit  to  my 
friends,  by  an  evening  at  the  opera,  at  the  theatre, 
at  the  concert.' 

"  And  so  we  see  how  a  natural  and  radical  an 
tagonism  may  exist  between  man  and  wife  as  to 
the  pleasures  and  the  needs  of  home.  Of  course, 
in  a  vast  majority  of  cases,  these  antagonisms  are 
compromised.  Between  affectionate  couples  they 
never  break  out  into  warfare ;  but  they  assuredly 
exist,  and  two  such  distinct  sets  of  ideas  must  be 
watched  by  both  husband  and  wife  if  they  would 
not  have  them  the  father  of  many  discontents  and 
much  infelicity.  Do  you  not  see  how  woman,  by 
the  very  necessities  of  her  existence,  must  have  a 
different  idea  of  home  than  what  man  has  ?  " 

"  This,"  said  Carriway,  "  is  very  like  arguing 
that  the  play  of  '  Hamlet  '  is  better  with  the  part 
of  Hamlet  omitted.  We  all  know  the  grace  and 
charm  women  give  to  life ;  we  all  think  with  pleas 
ure  of  that  spot  which  woman  renders  an  oasis  in 
the  desert  of  life." 

"  Yes,  my  dear  sir,  we  all  think  of  that  oasis 
because  we  love  to  contemplate  it,  because  it  is  so 
essential  to  our  happiness.  We  make  an  ideal 
home,  and  place  an  ideal  woman  in  it  ;  but,  when 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  DOMESTIC  BLISS,  2$ 

the  reality  comes,  how  confoundedly  often  we  are 
disappointed  !  " 

"  Do  you  then  mean  to  say,  flatly,  that  celibacy 
is  better  than  marriage  ?  "  asked  Auger. 

"  By  no  means.  What  I  hope  to  do  is  to  con 
vince  '  lovely  woman  '  that,  if  we  are  to  continue 
to  marry  her,  she  must  endeavor  to  work  up  to  our 
ideals  of  domestic  felicity.  She  must  try  and  find 
an  outlet  for  her  energies,  so  that  at  home  she  can 
fall  into  our  luxuriousness,  our  love  of  repose,  our 
enjoyment  of  supreme  ease.  You  see  women  —  I 
purposely  do  not  use  the  word  ladies  —  are  very 
busy  endeavoring  to  make  a  world  of  their  '  pent-up 
Utica.'  They  sometimes  are  disposed  to  have  it 
brilliant  and  animated  ;  but  too  often,  in  blind  ser 
vility  to  one  of  their  gods,  Propriety,  make  it  very 
cold  and  orderly.  The  amount  of  absolute  cheer- 
lessness  a  woman  can  stand  is  my  amazement." 

"  Cheerlessness !  " 

"  Yes,  cheerlessness,"  replied  the  Bachelor,  em 
phatically.  "  Our  women  have  an  affection  for 
flowers,  ribbons,  laces,  silks,  music,  pets  ;  but  are 
singularly  insensible  to  cheerlessness.  They  like 
dark  rooms.  They  prefer  heat  from  a  hole  in  the 
wall  rather  than  from  a  bright  blaze.  They  ask 
you  to  dine  under  a  dim  jet  of  gas.  They  will 

shiver  through  a  cold  storm  in  autumn,  rather  than 

2 


2 6  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

light  a  fire  a  day  earlier  than  the  almanac  permits. 
A  woman  may  have  all  the  known  virtues  of  her 
class  ;  all  the  gentleness,  humility,  grace,  domestic 
virtue,  poets  have  sung  about  —  and  yet,  if  you 
should  ask  for  a  blaze  on  the  hearth  on  a  dark, 
wet,  chilly  day  in  September,  ten  chances  to  one 
the  request  would  be  too  much  for  her  patience. 

"  Some  women,"  continued  the  Bachelor,  finding 
that  no  one  interrupted  him,  "  are  slovenly — let  us 
hope  not  many — I  have  seen  untidy  toilets,  though ; 
but,  when  a  woman  is  not  slovenly,  she  is  often  so 
neat,  trim,  precise,  methodical,  and  circumspect,  that 
she  excludes  all  color,  all  freedom,  all  tone  from  her 
house.  Upon  all  forms  of  untidiness  such  a  woman 
makes  tempestuous  warfare.  Now,  this  is  utterly 
destructive  to  domestic  bliss — an  essential  element 
of  which  is  ease  and  a  sense  of  completeness.  One 
can  not  be  content  if  always  under  the  smell  of 
soapsuds,  or  if  ceaselessly  disturbed  by  the  bustle 
of  administration.  The  ultimatum  of  a  woman's 
household  luxury  is  apt  to  be  the  satisfaction  of 
saying,  '  There  is  not  a  speck  of  dust  to  be  seen.' 
But  this  negative  idea  of  home  will  not  do.  It  is 
not  sufficient  to  say  there  is  no  dust,  no  disorder, 
no  untidiness,  no  confusion.  We  must  have  active 
ideas  at  work.  We  must  have  colors  and  sounds 
and  sights  to  cheer,  to  refine,  to  delight  us.  But, 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  DOMESTIC  BLISS.  2; 

you  see,  to  create  a  paradise  of  indolence,  to  fill 
the  mind  with  an  ecstasy  of  repose,  to  render  home 
a  heaven  of  the  senses — women  are  usually  too  vir 
tuous  to  do  this.  Daintiness  in  man  takes  an  ar 
tistic  form  ;  in  woman  it  assumes  a  formidable  or 
der,  a  fearful  cleanliness,  a  precision  of  arrangement 
that  freeze  us." 

"But  all  this,"  broke  in  Carriway,  "is  no  longer 
the  case.  There  was  a  time,  no  doubt,  when  your 
picture  would  have  been  strictly  true.  But  now 
art  has  entered  the  house ;  color,  banished  by  Pu 
ritan  asceticism,  has  reasserted  itself.  Do  we  not 
see  on  every  hand  the  new  arts  and  the  new  de 
vices  for  making  home  beautiful  ?  " 

"  For  making  home  a  museum  !  "  growled  the 
Bachelor.  "  Yes,  there  is  now  a  craze  for  what  is 
called  household  art,  but  it  is  for  the  most  part 
only  a  new  form  of  cheerlessness,  a  passion  for  mak 
ing  the  parlor  a  show-room,  the  splendor  of  which 
must  not  be  touched  and  scarcely  looked  upon  save 
by  the  outside  world.  It  is  art  for  Mrs.  Grundy, 
and  not  for  the  inmates  of  the  house.  Mrs.  Grundy 
is  the  power  of  powers.  If  a  woman  has  only  two 
rooms  in  the  world,  one  of  these  is  furnished,  gar 
nished,  set  in  order,  and  kept  for  the  approbation 
of  that  venerable  lady.  Domestic  comfort  must  live 
elsewhere  than  in  the  apartments  devoted  to  this 


28  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

lady — who  exacts  of  all  her  devotees  velvet  carpet 
that  must  not  be  trod  on,  damask  furniture  that 
must  not  be  sat  on,  and  all  forms  of  finery  that 
must  not  be  warmed  by  good,  honest  fires,  lest  the 
dust  alight  on  them,  or  opened  to  the  pleasant  rays 
of  the  sun,  lest  his  beams  fade  them.  The  disorder 
that  sometimes  is  held  up  as  domestic  comfort  I 
feel  no  sympathy  with ;  domestic  bliss  is  to  my  taste 
first-cousin  to  elegance,  and  an  elegance  that  enters 
into  one's  daily  being.  Unless  one  is  a  man  of 
wealth  it  is  better  to  banish  set-up  conventional  par 
lors  altogether,  and  live  and  dine  in  the  best  apart 
ment,  seated  among  books,  pictures,  and  the  best 
furniture,  invoke  peace  and  comfort.  Give  us,  I 
emphatically  say,  in  our  households  color  and  cheeri- 
ness — not  cold  art  nor  cold  pretensions  of  any  kind, 
but  warmth,  brightness,  animation.  Bring  in  pleas 
ing  colors,  choice  pictures,  bric-b-brac,  and  what-not ; 
but  let  in  also  the  sun ;  light  the  fires ;  and  have 
everything  for  daily  use." 

"  You  have  omitted  one  important  thing,"  re 
marked  Carriway. 

"  What  is  that  ?  " 

"  Love  !  " 

"  Ah !  that  is  something  which  bachelors,  how 
ever  agreeable  they  may  make  their  apartments,  must 
often  sigh  for.  But  love  flourishes  well  when  such 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  DOMESTIC  BLISS.  29 

notions  as  I  have  advanced  are  heeded  ;  and  then, 
men  are  such  devotees  of  the  senses,  that  so  fair 
and  delicate  a  thing  as  love  will  perish  if  women  do 
not  look  well  to  make  it  a  companion  of  domestic 
felicity." 

"  To  my  mind,"  said  Auger,  who  had  evidently 
been  brooding  intently  over  something,  "  we  have 
driven  out  all  the  pleasure  and  sweetness  of  home 
in  order  to  make  room  for  a  set  of  regulation  com 
forts.  We  heat  our  houses  by  elaborate  labor-saving 
furnaces;  we  light  them  with  gas  that  flows  into  our 
rooms  from  far-off  retorts ;  we  have  water,  hot  or 
cold,  in  our  bedrooms  at  a  touch  ;  we  surround 
ourselves  with  these  numerous,  well-ordered  conven 
iences,  and  yet  for  every  comfort  we  thus  purchase 
we  shut  the  door  upon  some  felicity.  The  essential 
enjoyment  of  a  pleasure,  we  must  remember,  is  by 
contrast.  We  know  what  sunlight  is  by  storm ;  what 
day  is  by  night;  what  warmth  is  by  cold;  what  the 
pleasures  of  the  appetite  are  by  hunger.  The  sweet 
ness  of  labor  past  is  often  confessed ;  but  we  forget 
the  sweetness  of  a  comfort  won.  How  can  a  family 
be  cozy,  confiding,  cheerful,  and  united,  around  a 
blazing  fire  in  the  sitting-room,  if  every  other  apart 
ment  in  the  house  is  equally  agreeable  ?  When  the 
temperature  of  a  home  in  winter-time  is  the  same 
throughout,  the  household  hearth,  so  full  of  delight- 


3o 


BACHELOR  BLUFF. 


fill  associations,  so  honored  in  song  and  story,  dis 
appears.  And,  then,  there  is  always  a  sacrifice  of 
health  in  these  uniformly-heated  houses,  especially 
with  home-kept  women.  Used  day  after  day  to  a 
uniform  temperature,  the  moment  they  venture  into 
the  street  the  sharp  change  tells  upon  their  sensitive 
flesh  severely,  and  usually  fastens  a  cold  upon  them. 
A  pleasure  is  only  enjoyed  with  thorough  raciness 
and  heartiness  when  it  comes  infrequently,  or  as  a 
contrast :  if  we  build  ourselves  up  in  organized  ease, 
if  we  surround  ourselves  with  methodized  comforts, 
our  '  primrose  path  of  dalliance  '  may  be  easy  to 
tread,  but  life  will  lose  its  keen  relish,  and  satiety 
sooner  or  later  extinguish  our  capacity  for  enjoy 
ment." 

There   was  a  general   murmur  of  assent   to   this, 
and  then  the  conversation  drifted  to  other  themes. 


III. 
MR.   BLUFF'S   THEORY   OF   POETRY. 

(In   the  Library.) 

A   POET, 
BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

Poet.*  How  is  it  that  so  many  sensible  people  as 
sume  toward  poetry  an  attitude  of  intellectual  dis 
dain  ? 

Bachelor  Bluff.  Perhaps  because  they  are  sensible 
people.  The  pretensions,  the  arrogance,  the  assump 
tion  of  the  poets,  and  the  would-be  poets,  may  well 
induce  wise  people  to  inquire  what  there  is  in  this 
poetry  which  is  so  clamorously  exalted. 

Poet.  I  do  not  refer  to  people  who  find  all  poe 
try  wholly  without  charm;  these,  unfortunately,  are 
but  too  large  in  number.  There  are  many  persons 
who  possess  what  usually  passes  for  a  decided  poetic 
taste,  who  yet  demand  from  the  verses  which  they 
read  little  else  besides  a  gratification  of  their  rhyth- 

*  Much  of  what  the  Poet  utters  in  this  colloquy  was  contrib 
uted  by  Mr.  Edgar  Fawcett,  but  it  appears  here  unedited  by  him. 


3 2  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

mic  sense  on  the  one  hand,  and  a  general  impres 
sion  on  the  other  that  they  are  having  things  very 
pleasantly  put.  In  not  a  few  cases  it  would  seem 
as  if  they  looked  upon  poetry  as  a  kind  of  mental 
retiring-room,  where  yawning,  and  stretching,  and 
lolling  upon  cushions,  must  of  necessity  be  admis 
sible — as  a  place  where  one  need  no  longer  concern 
himself  with  the  stricter  exactitudes;  where  misrep 
resentation  has  an  agreeable  right  to  work  its  law 
less  will ;  where  beauty  is  not  solely  its  own  ex 
cuse  for  being,  but  for  being  often  rather  scornful, 
as  well,  of  how  far  reason  restrains;  and  where 
grace,  melody,  and  color,  can  form  substitutes  for 
solid  thought  no  less  efficient  than  attractive.  I 
have  frequently  been  struck  with  the  way  in  which 
persons  have  welcomed  certain  ideas,  when  clothed 
poetically,  which  might  have  easily  roused  their 
worst  polemic  instincts  if  presented  in  a  prosaic 
form.  It  is  probable  that  this  sudden  toleration  is 
less  owing  to  the  luxurious  fascination  of  meter  and 
rhythm  than  to  a  general  understanding  that  matter 
has  now  become  of  slight  importance,  and  manner 
delightfully  the  reverse.  I  confess  that  it  amazes 
me  to  see  a  man  of  intellect  holding  passages  of 
poetry  in  fond  remembrance,  which  if  written  in 
prose  he  would  never  think  of  quoting;  and  I  am 
now  secretly  of  the  belief  that  it  is,  after  all,  only 


MR.  BLUFF'S    THEORY  OF  POETRY.  33 

"  the  mellow  oes  and  aes  "  that  he  cares  about,  and 
that  in  his  consideration  the  thought  occupies  some 
thing  decidedly  lower  than  a  secondary  place.  The 
chief  aim  of  all  poetry  is,  no  doubt,  to  be  beautiful, 
but  it  is  most  loftily  and  enduringly  beautiful  when 
its  thought  is  massive,  profound,  and  original. 
Merely  to  expect  from  it  soothative,  agreeable,  or 
sensuous  effects,  is  to  underrate  its  finest  capabili 
ties.  Merely  to  seek  emotional  pleasure  from  it  is 
to  leave  unemployed  half  its  powers  for  giving 
pleasure  at  all. 

Bluff.  I  do  not  agree  with  you;  in  fact,  I  affirm 
that  the  function  of  poetry  is  not  thought,  but  emo 
tion.  The  sole  thing  which  distinguishes  it  from 
other  forms  of  literary  art  is  its  metrical  construc 
tion,  in  which  lies  the  only  power  it  possesses  for 
giving  pleasure  which  it  does  not  share  with  all 
literature  and  the  arts.  It  is  really  irritating  to 
hear  the  claims  put  forth  so  continuously  of  the 
purposes,  the  functions,  the  attributes,  the  results, 
the  what-not,  of  poetry,  the  majority  of  persons 
seeming  to  think  that  ideas,  when  expressed  in  ac 
cordance  with  certain  metrical  rules,  attain  an  occult 
power  which  they  could  not  possess  in  so-called 
plain  prose.  Now,  these  ideas  do  gain  by  the  aid 
of  rhythm  a  measurable  force  or  power,  but  this  is 
nothing  more  than  the  charm  of  melody  —  which 


34  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

alone  separates  poetry  from  prose.  The  confusion 
on  this  subject,  however,  is  as  extensive  as  human 
nature.  I  doubt  if  accurate  thinking  or  accurate 
definition  is  possible.  I  am  not  thinking  of  the 
dictionaries,  but  of  efforts  made  by  people  generally 
to  indicate  the  essential  quality  or  separate  function 
which  anything  possesses.  I  find,  for  instance,  one 
Of  our  essayists  affirming  that  the  purpose  and  end 
of  poetry  were  never  more  accurately  stated  than  in 
the  lines  by  Keats  : 

"...   It  should  be  a  friend 
To  soothe  the  cares  and  lift  the  thoughts  of  man." 

I  advise  you  to  quote  those  lines  to  any  person  not 
acquainted  with  them,  and  ask  him  to  guess  what 
it  is  that  is  to  act  as  this  "  friend."  Can  that  be 
called  a  definition  or  description  of  anything  which 
applies  with  equal  pertinency  and  force  to  a  hun 
dred  other  things?  The  lines  by  Keats  are  just  as 
true  of  music,  of  painting,  of  eloquence,  of  imagina 
tive  prose,  as  they  are  of  poetry,  and  they  really 
apply  with  greater  truth  to  religion  than  to  anything 
else.  If  we  want  to  know  the  true  value,  the  real 
purpose,  the  exact  quality  of  anything,  we  must  dis 
cover  what  it  possesses  that  separates  it  from  other 
things  —  what  faculty,  or  function,  or  principle,  or 
law,  pertains  to  it  alone,  and  by  which  it  may  be 


MR.  BLUFF'S   THEORY  OF  POETRY.  35 

distinguished.  Now,  why  is  there  poetry?  What  is 
its  excuse  for  being  ?  What  distinctive  quality  does 
it  possess  ?  What  special  end  has  it  in  view  ? 
What  are  the  features  or  signs  by  which  it  may  be 
known  ? 

Poet.  Poetry,  like  wit,  humor,  and  even  art,  can 
not  be  accurately  defined.  Its  essence  is  subtile,  its 
qualities  illusive,  and,  although  there  are  poets  who 
divine  its  secret,  no  one  has  been  able  to  put  his 
divination  into  the  form  of  a  definition. 

Bluff.  No  one,  I  grant,  has  been  able  to  define 
or  explain  the  secret  of  the  charm  which  melody 
exerts  upon  us;  and  neither  can  the  charm  of  color 
or  form  be  explained ;  but  the  definition  of  poetry 
is  simply  that  it  is  a  form  of  literary  expression 
which  employs  meter  —  a  metrical  arrangement  of 
syllables  with  the  purpose  of  delighting  the  ear  by 
rhythmic  beat  and  recurrence  of  sound.  It  is  the 
stem  from  which  music  has  separated  into  a  special 
development. 

Poet.  This  is  nothing  more  than  a  definition  of 
verse.  You  limit  your  terms  wholly  to  the  mechan 
ical  execution  of  lines — to  that  feature  which  ad 
dresses  the  ear,  ignoring  altogether  the  essence  and 
true  spirit  of  poetry — its  embodiment  of  the  beau 
tiful,  its  exaltation,  its  inspiration  and  insight,  its 
crystallization  of  thought,  its  power  of  picture-mak- 


3 6  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

ing,  its  profound  moods  and  divinations.  It  is  mon 
strous  to  assume  that  poetry  is  merely  a  succession 
of  words  in  a  smooth  and  sensuous  order.  So  far 
from  this  being  true,  I  affirm  that  it  primarily  in 
carnates  the  beautiful,  but  achieves  its  highest  func 
tion  only  when  it  is  philosophical  and  profound. 
Buckle  goes  so  far  as  to  say  that  the  abstract  meth 
ods  of  poetry  act  as  stimuli  to  precise  scientific 
investigation,  that  it  is  often  the  avant-courrier  of 
detailed  and  formulated  knowledge,  throwing  its 
light  over  lands  into  which  science  has  not  yet 
ventured.  "There  is  in  poetry,"  he  says,  "a  divine 
and  prophetic  power  which,  if  properly  used,  would 
make  it  the  ally  of  science  instead  of  the  enemy. 
By  the  poet,  Nature  is  contemplated  on  the  side  of 
the  emotions ;  by  the  man  of  science,  on  the  side 
of  the  understanding.  But  the  emotions  are  as 
much  a  part  of  us  as  the  understanding.  They 
are  as  truthful  ;  they  are  as  likely  to  be  right. 
Though  their  view  is  different,  it  is  not  capricious. 
They  obey  fixed  laws ;  they  follow  an  orderly  and 
uniform  course ;  they  run  in  sequences ;  they  have 
their  logic  and  method  of  inference.  Poetry,  there 
fore,  is  a  part  of  philosophy,  simply  because  the 
emotions  are  a  part  of  the  mind.  If  the  man  of 
science  despises  their  teaching,  so  much  the  worse 
for  him.  He  has  only  half  his  weapons;  his  arsenal 


MR.  BLUFF'S   THEORY  OF  POETRY. 


37 


is  unfilled."  This  places  poetry,  you  see,  side  by 
side  with  the  highest  intellectual  efforts;  it  estab 
lishes  that  its  mission  is  not  merely  to  be  musical, 
not  solely  to  be  sensuous,  not  exclusively  to  be 
beautiful,  but  to  go  hand-in-hand  with  the  intellect 
in  its  profoundest  philosophical  pursuits  and  studies. 
Bluff.  My  good  sir,  the  works  of  the  great  poets 
exhibit  all  the  transcendent  qualities  you  have  enu 
merated — beauty,  wisdom,  inspiration,  insight,  divina 
tion,  exaltation,  philosophy — all  are  there;  but  beau 
ty,  wisdom,  divination,  philosophy,  are  all  found 
just  as  strikingly  in  the  great  prose-writers  as  in 
the  poets.  There  is  not  one  thing,  not  one,  which 
you  have  set  down  as  the  attribute  of  poetry  that 
exclusively  belongs  to  it.  All  that  Buckle  says  per 
tains  to  imagination  and  the  emotions;  he  is  using 
the  word  poetry  in  the  popular  sense,  as  if  it  were 
synonymous  with  beauty  and  certain  exalted  mental 
qualities.  He  simply  affirms  the  value  of  the  im 
agination  as  compared  with  reason,  and  exalts  the 
emotions  as  forces  even  in  purely  intellectual  pur 
suits  ;  and  surely  imagination  and  emotion  are  as 
competent  to  act  as  handmaids  to  science  and  phi 
losophy  in  elevated  prose  as  in  poetry.  Prose  is 
capable  of  expressing  the  whole  range  of  human 
thought,  human  aspiration,  human  feeling;  of  reach 
ing  the  heart,  of  rousing  the  imagination,  of  stirring 


3 8  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

the  emotions,  of  exciting  the  fancy  ;  it  possesses 
every  weapon  and  every  resource  the  poet  is  en 
dowed  with,  excepting  the  single  one  of  melody. 
Come,  here  is  a  volume  of  Tennyson  at  my  hand. 
Let  me  open  it  at  random,  and  read  the  first  pas 
sage  that  falls  under  my  eye.  ...  I  have  hit  upon 
"  The  Princess,"  and  here  are  a  few  lines  that  my 
eye  alights  upon  : 

"...   Out  we  paced, 

"  I  first,  and,  following  through  the  porch  that  sang 
All  round  with  laurel,  issued  in  a  court 
Compact  of  lucid  marbles,  bossed  with  lengths 
Of  classic  frieze,  with  ample  awnings  gay 
Betwixt  the  pillars,  and  with  great  urns  of  flowers. 
The  Muses  and  the  Graces,  grouped  in  threes, 
Enringed  a  billowing  fountain  in  the  midst ; 
And  here  and  there  on  lattice  edges  lay 
Or  book  or  lute." 

This  is  a  captivating  picture;  it  is  a  perfect  piece 
of  word-painting;  but  how  easy  to  transpose  it  all 
into  prose,  losing  thereby  just  the  ineffable  charm 
of  metrical  arrangement — just  this  and  no  more! 
Study  it  well,  and  you  will  see  there  is  no  known 
means  by  which  it  can  be  distinguished  from  prose 
excepting  its  meter — and  this,  consequently,  makes 
it  poetry. 

Poet.    Carry  this  out,  and  any  piece  of  doggerel 


MR.  BLUFF'S   THEORY  OF  POETRY.  39 

is  poetry,  no  matter  how  empty,  vacant,  worthless, 
it  may  be. 

Bluff.  Just  as  a  poor  picture  in  color  must  be 
classed,  like  Titian's  "  Venus  "  or  Murillo's  "  As 
sumption,"  as  painting;  just  as  the  naturalist  under 
the  term  mammalia  must  group  the  mouse  and  the 
lion.  Classification  in  these  things  is  not  by  quality, 
but  by  structure  j  by  the  latter  we  have  the  kind,  by 
the  former  the  rank. 

Poet.  The  mere  use  of  rhythm  does  not  of  itself 
separate  the  two  forms.  If  we  say,  "  The  moon 
arose,"  we  have  measure  and  rhythm,  but  assuredly 
not  poetry  ;  if  we  say,  "  The  moon  unveiled  her 
peerless  light  and  threw  across  the  scene  her  silver 
mantle,"  we  have  the  fact  expressed  in  poetry — and 
it  would  still  be  poetry  if  we  reconstructed  the  sen 
tence  so  as  to  exclude  the  meter. 

Bluff.  This  is  the  difference  between  the  simple 
and  the  ornate,  and  not  the  difference  between  prose 
and  poetry.  If  it  were  so,  nineteen  twentieths  of 
our  poetry  would  have  to  be  remanded  to  prose — 
including  nearly  all  that  Wordsworth  and  his  fol 
lowers  have  written.  Twist  the  theory  as  you  will, 
you  will  find  that  meter  is  the  quality,  and  the  only 
quality,  that  indicates  poetical  composition.  If  there 
is  anything  else  in  poetry  which  prose  does  not  pos 
sess,  point  it  out. 


40  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

Poet.  Poetry  crystallizes  ideas,  concentrates  a 
world  into  a  phrase,  expounds  a  philosophy  in  a 
sentence.  It  is  sinewy  with  thought,  it  is  a  succes 
sion  of  captivating  pictures,  it  ennobles  and  trans 
figures,  it  glorifies  with  splendid  colors,  it  reveals 
with  searching  analysis,  it  embodies  the  highest  wis 
dom,  gives  form  to  the  most  glorious  dreams,  fixes 
and  shapes  a  thousand  otherwise  illusive  beauties. 
Rhythmical  utterance  is  its  vehicle  only.  The  quality 
which  makes  metrical  lines  poetry  is  something  that 
utterly  escapes  analysis;  and  in  this  discussion  it  is 
well  to  keep  in  mind  the  original  meaning  of  the 
word — which  is,  to  makt,  to  create.  The  poet,  when 
fulfilling  his  true  office,  is  a  creator,  a  seer. 

Blvff.  It  is  this  original  significance  of  the  word 
which  has  led  to  all  the  ecstatic  utterances  on  the 
subject  The  poet  preceded  the  prose-writer;  his 
songs  and  hymns  were  the  sole  vehicle  for  the  ex 
pression  of  imaginative  ideas,  for  the  relation  of  he 
roic  deeds,  for  the  utterance  of  emotional  thought. 
Poetry  was  the  whole  of  literature.  The  poet  was 
a  maker  and  seer  not  because  he  sung  in  numbers, 
but  because  he  was  the  voice  of  prophecy,  the  chron 
icler  of  history,  the  teacher  of  morals,  the  expositor 
of  the  passions  and  the  sentiments.  To-day  litera 
ture  and  the  arts  in  their  various  forms  do  now  for 
mankind  what  the  poet  did  in  the  beginning  of  civ- 


MR.  BLUFF'S    THEORY  OF  POETRY.          ^ 

ilization.  In  some  things  prose  accomplishes  this 
end  better  than  poetry.  You  say,  for  instance,  that 
poetry  crystallizes  ideas.  Now,  the  very  best  crys 
tallized  thought  is  in  our  proverbs,  which  for  the 
most  part  are  in  prose.  It  happens  sometimes  that 
the  requirements  of  rhythm  or  rhyme  lead  to  great 
compactness,  but  it  also  sometimes  happens  that  they 
lead  to  padding  and  feeble  extension.  Neither  com 
pactness  nor  verbiage  is,  therefore,  an  inevitable  or 
necessary  condition  of  poetry  —  the  arbitrary  long 
and  short  syllables  and  terminal  rhymes  determining 
absolutely  which  of  these  two  things  shall  charac 
terize  a  line.  Crystallization,  moreover,  implies  ac 
curacy  of  thought  and  clearness  of  thought.  In 
neither  of  these  things  has  poetry  any  advantage 
over  prose.  In  prose  we  can  choose  with  utmost 
precision  the  exact  word  or  phrase  we  need  ;  in 
poetry  the  recurring  beat  is  tyrannical,  and  is  just 
as  likely  to  enforce  an  obscure  as  a  luminous  phrase. 
The  rhyme  and  the  meter  often  lead  to  awkward 
inversions  and  forced  expressions  that  are  fatal  to 
clearness  and  precision  of  thought.  All  that  the 
poetical  form  can  do  is  to  help  fix  an  idea  in  the 
memory  by  a  sonorous  ring,  or  by  smooth  and  flow 
ing  cadence.  Coleridge  has  defined  poetry  as  the 
best  word  in  the  best  place.  This  is  not  a  defini 
tion  of  poetry,  but  a  definition  of  style.  The  poet 


42  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

selects  the  best  word  he  can,  but  is  often  com 
pelled  to  surrender  the  most  accurate  word  for  one 
that  will  better  meet  the  requirements  of  his  versi 
fication — to  which,  as  Byron  tells  us,  all  things  must 
yield. 

Poet.  This  I  grant ;  but  the  other  high  qualities 
that  I  have  named,  they  assuredly  are  not  so  much 
a  function  of  prose  as  of  poetry. 

Bluff.  They  may  not  be  as  commonly  found  in 
prose  as  in  poetry,  but  prose  can  reach  any  height 
of  imagination  or  expression  that  poetry  can.  Wit 
ness  the  great  orations.  Would  one  of  Burke's 
splendid  speeches  be  fuller  of  strong  thought,  of 
more  brilliant  fancies,  of  more  swelling  diction,  of 
more  inspired  fervor,  of  greater  imaginative  reach, 
had  it  been  thrown  into  verse — had  it  supplemented 
these  things  with  the  best  resources  of  the  poets  ? 
Cast  one  of  his  orations  into  poetry,  and  it  would 
lose  in  clearness,  directness,  and  force;  but  there 
would  be  passages  the  beauty  of  which  would  be 
greatly  enhanced  by  meter  and  cadence,  and  cer 
tain  lines  would  ring  in  the  ear  with  a  resonance 
never  to  be  forgotten. 

Poet.  But  there  are  subtiler  melodies  in  poetry 
than  the  melody  of  numbers.  In  true  poetry  words 
are  wedded  by  affinities  too  delicate  to  be  formu 
lated  into  rules.  Every  one  knows  the  laws  for 


MR.  BLUFF'S   THEORY  OF  POETRY.          43 

constructing  blank  verse,  but  how  few  can  write 
really  good  lines  of  this  character! 

Bluff.  Every  one  knows  the  rules  of  composi 
tion,  but  how  few  can  write  good  prose !  There 
are  as  many  harmonies  and  subtilties  in  prose  as 
in  poetry — the  arrangement  of  words  by  nice  and 
perfect  fitness  is  as  possible  and  almost  as  difficult 
in  one  form  as  in  another. 

Poet.  But  poetry  is  always  necessarily  identified 
with  fancy  and  imagination ;  we  exact  of  it  those 
conditions,  and  can  think  of  no  excuse  for  its  being 
unless  it  carries  the  mind  into  realms  of  beauty. 

Bluff.  There  is  no  excuse  for  any  art  unless  it 
does  just  this  thing  —  unless  it  stirs  the  emotions 
and  exalts  the  imagination.  This  is  the  special  do 
main  of  all  art.  We  are  charmed  with  the  ideas, 
the  pictures,  the  imagery,  the  fancies,  the  conceits, 
the  suggestions,  the  beauty,  so  generally  found  in 
poetry,  and  thus  are  seduced  into  the  idea  that 
these  things  make  poetry,  forgetting  that  they  exist 
in  entire  independence  of  special  modes  of  expres 
sion.  Now,  that  which  constitutes  a  painting  is 
color ;  it  is  not  the  story,  the  ideas,  the  hundred 
other  things  that  please  us  therein  :  everything  else 
but  color  may  be  expressed  by  literature,  or  sculpt 
ure,  or  drawing  in  black-and-white.  A  painting  is 
a  painting  by  the  employment  of  pigments,  and 


44  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

worthily  so  by  rightly  using  them.  Sculpture  sepa 
rates  itself  from  other  forms  of  art  by  the  fact  of 
its  being  form  in  relief;  whatever  other  charm  or 
quality  it  possesses  does  not  belong  to  it  because  it 
is  sculpture.  It  is  barren  enough  if  beauty  and 
imagination  are  not  in  it,  but,  while  these  things 
may  determine  the  rank  of  a  work  by  the  chisel, 
they  do  not  determine  its  classification.  It  is  there 
fore  a  particular  method  that  makes  poetry,  not  the 
ideas  that  leaven  the  performance,  that  elevate  it, 
that  consecrate  it,  that  make  it  glorious.  These  are 
the  qualities  that  make  verse  great  poetry. 

Poet.  Every  mind  is  fixed  in  the  idea  that  poe 
try  means  beautiful  thought,  and  not  the  sing-song 
of  the  meter.  We  often  hear  a  beautiful  sunset 
described  as  poetical.  A  charming  fancy  is  always 
crowned  as  poetical. 

Bluff.  It  would  be  just  as  logical  to  characterize 
a  beautiful  sunset  or  a  fine  conceit  as  sculpturesque ! 
We  can  not  get  accurate  understanding  on  this  sub 
ject  by  calling  in  popular  confusion  as  a  witness. 
We  may  sweep  all  the  poetical  literature  in  the 
world  out  of  existence,  let  the  art  of  versification 
perish,  and  yet  we  would  not  abridge  in  the  least 
the  dreams,  the  fancies,  the  conceits,  or  any  of  the 
emotional  or  imaginative  forces  of  the  world. 

Poet.    It   is   not  worth  while   uttering   the   truism 


MR.  BLUFF'S   THEORY  OF  POETRY.          45 

that  emotion  and  imagination  exist  without  poetry. 
No  one  will  deny  it.  But  the  poet  appropriates 
and  exalts  them ;  he  gives  them  habitation,  form, 
and  expression ;  he  unites  them  with  all  other  at 
tributes  of  the  mind.  The  supreme  quality  of  poe 
try,  its  exalted  service,  is  not  that  it  charms  the 
ear,  or  pleases  the  fancy,  or  interests  the  intelli 
gence,  but  that  it  simultaneously  appeals  to  the 
several  sides  of  our  nature  involved  in  the  mind, 
the  emotions,  and  the  senses.  It  is  the  consensus  of 
several  things  that  makes  poetry.  Its  dominion  is 
over  the  whole  being.  It  reasons,  it  thinks,  it  feels, 
it  dreams ;  while  its  cadence  charms  the  ear,  and  its 
warm  pictures  lull  the  senses,  its  outflying  thoughts 
compass  the  world. 

Bluff.  This  simultaneous  action  upon  the  intel 
lect  and  the  senses,  this  consensus  of  many  qualities 
which  make  poetry  worthy,  is  necessary  to  give  any 
human  work  of  the  imagination  a  high  place.  As 
to  thinking,  that  has  little  place  in  poetry  or  in 
any  art.  Poets  dream  and  make  pictures — this  is 
about  all.  The  notion  which  you  seemed  to  find 
sanctioned  in  Buckle,  that  the  mere  metrical  ar 
rangement  of  words  can  aid  in  thinking,  promote 
good  thinking,  or  be  anything  else  than  an  incum- 
brance  to  accurate  thinking,  is  absurd.  Poetry  has 
an  abundance  of  enthusiasm,  passion,  emotion,  ideali- 


46  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

zation,  sensuous  charm,  but  little  or  no  real  thought. 
Those  who  are  to  do  genuine  thinking  must  clear 
themselves  of  every  possible  obstruction — all  rules 
of  form,  all  dictations  of  method,  all  devices  that 
allure  the  senses. 

Poet.  Enthusiasm  and  passion  are  only  the  gar 
ment  clothing  the  clear  and  definite  idea  within. 
You  must  recollect  that,  to  have  the  mirage,  we 
must  have  the  actuality.  The  mountain  is  still  a 
mountain,  whether  we  see  it  in  its  rugged  lines,  or 
when  it  looms  a  changing  mass  of  violet  vapor. 
John  Stuart  Mill  has  written  on  the  woman's-rights 
question,  and  Tennyson  has  also  written  upon  it  in 
"  The  Princess."  In  the  prose  of  one  writer  there 
is  the  able  discussion  of  a  subtile  question,  after  a 
manner  no  less  powerful  than  limpid,  and  marked 
by  particularizations,  items,  specializations.  In  the 
verse  of  the  other  writer  there  are  supreme  fervor,  a 
splendid  picturesqueness,  and  every  possible  acces 
sory  of  fine  rhythm  and  mellow  voweling.  One  is 
deliberative  and  practical  thought,  the  other  emo 
tional  and  desultory.  One  is  a  landscape  whose 
least  grass-blade,  bough,  or  road-line,  meets  us  with 
vivid  distinctness ;  the  other  is  the  same  landscape 
flooded  with  transfiguring  moonlight,  its  most  salient 
features  alone  visible,  and  these  softened  or  made 
sublime. 


MR.  BLUFF'S   THEORY  OF  POETRY. 


47 


Bluff.  This  is  the  difference  between  exact  logic 
and  the  suggestiveness,  the  breadth,  the  half-touches 
of  art.  All  that  poetry  does  is  to  heighten  these 
art-effects  by  the  mysterious  charm  of  cadence — for 
cadence  in  its  effect  upon  the  human  mind  may  be 
fairly  called  mysterious.  We  know  that  color  simply 
as  color  is  a  great  delight ;  while  the  fine  propor 
tions  and  graceful  lines  of  form  have  the  capacity 
to  thrill  and  fascinate  us.  In  the  same  way  mere 
mellow  syllables  have  the  power  to  create  sweet 
sensations.  If  these  musical  syllables  are  nothing 
but  empty  sound,  why  not  write  in  prose?  You 
have  heard  the  winds  moan  and  whisper  in  the 
tree-tops;  you  have  listened  to  the  fall  of  water 
over  rocks,  and  the  splash  of  fountains ;  you  know 
the  charm  of  a  soft  voice  in  woman  :  these  are  evi 
dence  of  what  a  quality  in  Nature  mere  sound  is. 
Now,  I  make  the  bold  assertion  that  poetry  exists 
solely  because  of  the  delight  of  the  human  ear  in 
cadence  and  mellow  sound. 

Poet.  Why,  then  one  needs  only  neat  blendings 
of  vowels  and  consonants  for  the  making  of  poetry. 

Bluff.  If  the  cadence  were  united  to  purely 
empty  and  meaningless  words,  all  our  other  senses 
would  revolt  against  the  lines.  But  the  charm  of 
cadence  is  so  great  that  it  seems  to  clothe  vague 
ness  and  obscurity  with  meaning,  and  will  seduce  a 


4 8  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

reader  into  admiring  lines  that  he  can  not  define 
or  explain,  the  meaning  of  which  but  faintly  glim 
mers  in  his  mind.  I  have  often  been  struck,  when 
hearing  poets  read  their  verses,  how  completely  the 
musical  idea  predominated.  It  is  said  that  Tenny 
son  reads  his  own  poems  in  a  monotonous  sing 
song.  Within  my  experience,  I  have  never  heard  a 
poet  recite  poetry  in  a  manner  to  show  that  he  had 
the  least  idea  of  its  meaning ;  he  invariably  thinks 
of  nothing  but  the  cadence.  If  there  were  no 
meaning,  then  the  verses,  of  course,  would  excite 
disdain.  But  in  many  cases  any  form  of  half-hinted 
suggestion  suffices — and  vagueness,  let  me  say,  is  le 
gitimately  a  force  and  quality  in  poetry,  just  as  it  is 
in  all  art.  It  is  found  in  the  greatest  poets,  as  in 
the  greatest  artists,  and  completely  establishes  the 
axiom  that  poetry  is  not  thought,  but  feeling.  It  is 
related  that  in  Turner's  time  a  well-known  engraver 
called  upon  the  great  artist  for  an  explanation  as  to 
the  meaning  of  a  vague  shape  in  one  corner  of  a 
painting  which  he  had  undertaken  to  reproduce  on 
steel.  "  What  do  you  think  it  is  ?  "  gruffly  asked 
the  painter.  The  engraver  hesitatingly  replied  that 
he  didn't  know,  but  perhaps  it  was  a  wheelbarrow. 
"  Well,  make  it  a  wheelbarrow,"  exclaimed  the 
painter,  and  turned  on  his  heel.  The  painter  had 
in  his  mind  a  scheme  of  color,  and  was  wholly  in- 


MR.  BLUFF'S    THEORY  OF  POETRY.  4.9 

different  to  details  of  form.  In  the  same  way  a 
poet  often  makes  and  masses  impression  by  felici 
tous  sound,  in  which  there  is  but  uncertain  and  illu 
sive  sense. 

Poet.  I  must  admit  that  much  of  our  modern 
poetry  has  the  sins  of  obscurity  and  wordiness. 
The  first,  as  in  the  case  of  Browning,  often  con 
ceals  much  sinewy  and  laudable  thought ;  the  sec 
ond  but  too  often  conceals  a  disheartening  vacu 
um.  There  are  songs  scattered  through  Swinburne's 
poem,  "  The  Sailing  of  the  Swallow,"  which  are 
simply  a  collection  of  gaudy-colored  words,  that  may 
mean  almost  anything  one  pleases  to  have  them 
mean.  They  are  the  hollow  shell  of  poetry — rain 
bow-tinted,  it  is  true,  but  without  any  aesthetic  right 
to  exist.  It  is  in  the  most  perfect  blending  of  the 
sweetest  sound  with  the  noblest  sense  that  poetry 
finds  her  loftiest  and  best  expression.  When  the 
first  preponderates  over  the  second  (as  it  is  con 
stantly  doing  in  Browning's  work),  the  result  is 
crude,  inharmonious,  and  often  even  repulsive.  When 
(as  we  too  often  find  in  the  case  of  Swinburne) 
there  is  a  great  deal  of  rhythm  and  color,  and  very 
little  else  besides,  the  artistic  error  is  still  more 
grave.  I  do  not  mean  that  this  perfect  union  is 
always  to  be  sought  for,  but  I  maintain  that  even 
in  the  simplest  ballad  a  certain  dignity  of  idea  is 


5o  BACHELOR  BLUFF, 

indispensable.  Among  poems  which  are  passionate 
expressions  of  sorrow,  longing,  despair,  or  religious 
faith,  the  higher  imaginative  traits  are  out  of  place ; 
but  here,  as  always,  no  amount  of  rhetorical  ele 
gance  may  properly  hide  an  underlying  platitude. 
Yet,  in  all  the  more  ambitious  conceptions,  this 
stately  equipoise  is  to  be  aimed  for.  Milton  accom 
plished  it  in  his  epic,  or  at  least  grandly  approxi 
mated  toward  its  accomplishment.  Pollok,  in  his, 
fell  short  on  the  intellectual  and  not  the  metrical 
side.  In  Pope  the  two  elements  of  the  combination 
were  excellently  suited  one  to  another,  though  nei 
ther  was  of  the  lordlier  ideal  sort.  Keats  erred  ex 
travagantly  in  the  direction  of  voluptuous  phrasing, 
often  almost  smothering  his  thoughts  in  mere  mode 
of  utterance,  or  making  them  pass  before  the  reader 
like  shapes  that  staggered  beneath  burdens  of  flow 
ers.  Shelley  came  very  near,  in  certain  instances, 
wedding  "  perfect  music  unto  noble  words " ;  and 
perhaps  no  writer  of  any  time  has  acquired  a  more 
superb  evenness  between  the  thing  said  and  the 
manner  of  saying  it  than  Tennyson.  We  have  all 
heard  of  "  the  light  that  never  was  on  sea  or  land." 
It  is  precisely  this  light  which,  if  thrown  over  cer 
tain  objects,  must  produce  in  all  cases  the  exquisite 
and  unexplainable  effect  called  "  poetry."  But  if 
the  object  does  not  exist — if  the  light  be  thrown 


MR.  BLUFF'S   THEORY  OF  POETRY.  51 

upon  vacuity — what  wonder  if  the  result  has  still  a 
beauty  which  in  not  a  few  cases  annoys  us  by  the 
meaningless  charm  which  it  exerts  ? 

Bluff.  "  The  light  that  never  was  on  sea  or 
land,"  let  me  tell  you,  is  simply  the  light  bestowed 
by  imagination ;  it  glows  in  Turner's  skies,  in  the 
eloquence  of  Burke,  in  the  prose  of  Ruskin  ;  it  is 
shared  by  the  poets  with  all  others  who  are  touched 
with  the  fire  of  inspiration. 


IV. 

MR.   BLUFF'S   IDEAL   OF   A   HOUSE. 

(At  the    Club.} 

BACHELOR  BLUFF, 
A  DREAMER. 

"  I  PICTURED  to  myself,  the  other  day,  in  a  half- 
dream,"  said  the  Dreamer,  "  a  house  which  em 
bodied  all  the  latest  and  best  ideas  of  taste  and 
art-culture." 

:'  It  must  have  been  a  dream,  indeed  !  "  ex 
claimed  Bachelor  Bluff,  turning  restlessly  in  his 
chair.  "But,  pray,  what  did  your  sleeping  imagina 
tion  set  forth  as  the  ideal  of  a  house  ?  " 

"  It  was  a  house  like  a  symphony — all  in  har 
mony,  and  tone,  and  perfect  keeping.  Color  was 
the  silent  music  of  this  house ;  form  and  proportion 
were  the  foundations  of  its  being.  It  was  a  house 
in  which  there  were  beauty,  repose,  peace,  and 
sweetness.  The  eye  rested  with  lasting  pleasure 
upon  fine  adjustments  of  beautiful  objects,  and  the 


MR.  BLUFF'S  IDEAL   OF  A   HOUSE.  53 

mind  found  intellectual  stimulus  in  treasures  of 
painting,  marble,  and  bronze." 

"  Yes,  I  see  !  Your  dream  was  of  a  house  toned 
up,  so  to  speak,  to  a  high-art  pitch — one  of  Whis 
tler's  *  symphonies  of  color.'  Well,  this  is  not  new 
in  the  world  of  dreams.  I  am  not  sure  but  it 
would  be  as  well  if  houses  of  the  kind  existed  only 
as  a  fantastic  nothing  of  the  imagination.  There 
was  a  time  when  the  ideal  of  a  perfect  house  was 
one  which  bloomed  with  thriving  olive-branches — a 
nest  where  under  protecting  wings  life  came  into 
being,  expanded,  filled  all  the  spaces  with  love 
and  music,  and  which  eventually  sent  out  into  the 
world  hearty  and  honest  souls  fit  to  cope  with 
it  and  to  adorn  it.  But  now  the  ideal  house  is  a 
bric-a-brac  shop.  Nevertheless,  let  me  hear  fur 
ther." 

"  In  the  house  I  imagined,"  continued  the  Dream 
er,  "  there  entered  the  matured  and  perfect  knowl 
edge  of  a  trained  taste — there  were  no  incongruities, 
no  vulgarities,  no  discords.  It  exhibited  in  its  plan 
both  a  severe  and  a  liberal  mind;  it  had  harmony 
and  unity  with  abundant  variety.  Just  as  we  find 
in  Nature  rich  contrasts,  manifold  details,  and  broad 
effects  and  masses,  so  the  appointments  and  adorn 
ments  of  this  house  were  blended  into  a  consistent 
and  delightful  whole." 


54  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

"  This  is  all  very  well  for  generalization,"  said 
the  Bachelor.  "  But  my  imagination  can  not  live 
on  mere  summaries.  I  wait  for  some  of  the  de 
tails  in  the  furnishing  of  this  marvelous  mansion." 

"  Our  dreams  are  apt,  you  know,  to  grasp  at  a 
detail  here  and  there,  but  they  rest  content  in  the 
main  with  vague,  half-defined  pictures ;  but  I  will 
recall  all  the  particulars  I  can  of  my  Utopian  house. 
The  first  thought,  apparently,  of  the  artistic  decora 
tor  in  regard  to  each  room  was  to  inquire  whether 
it  was  to  be  beautiful  in  itself,  or  a  place  into  which 
beautiful  things  were  to  be  gathered.  If  the  latter, 
then  the  walls,  ceiling,  floors,  were  considered  sim 
ply  as  foils  for  the  articles  and  objects  which  were 
to  be  set  off  against  them.  Imagine  a  drawing-room 
the  walls  of  which  were  covered  with  a  paper  of 
warm  olive  tint,  through  which  intertwine  with 
glints  of  gilt  a  slightly-defined  leaf-pattern — a  mere 
suggestion  of  form,  just  sufficient  to  break  the  mo 
notony  of  the  tint.  The  result  was  walls  which, 
while  in  themselves  a  charm  to  the  eye,  were  never 
theless  but  little  more  than  a  background  against 
which  form  and  color  had  pure  and  perfect  relief. 
In  the  dado  below  were  definite  forms  and  colors, 
though  still  subdued,  while  the  frieze  beneath  the 
cornice  was  of  rich  Pompeian  device  and  color.  It 
is  needless  to  say  that  this  principle  of  wall-decora- 


MR.  BLUFF'S  IDEAL   OF  A   HOUSE.  55 

tion  now  enters  many  houses,  but  it  is  still  wholly 
unknown  to  innumerable  people,  who  seem  uncon 
scious  that  markings,  devices,  and  figures  on  the 
wall  mix  with  and  confuse  the  figures  and  colors 
that  adorn  the  objects  placed  against  it.  Color 
against  color,  paintings  against  painting,  we  still  see 
in  many  houses.  And  yet  no  flat,  whitened  surface, 
no  raw,  cold  tint,  even  if  without  pattern  or  de 
vices,  can  serve  as  a  suitable  background  for  paint 
ings  or  prints.  No  ingenuity  in  the  multiplication 
of  pictures,  or  in  the  adjustment  of  furniture,  can 
make  a  room  of  this  kind  anything  but  raw  and 
discordant.  In  this  parlor  of  my  imagination  there 
were  hung  against  the  satisfying  negative  of  the 
walls  a  few  paintings  of  captivating  beauty,  all 
framed  in  such  a  way  that  the  frames,  instead  of 
competing  with  the  pictures,  as  is  so  often  the  case, 
humbly  served  to  heighten  their  effect.  These  paint 
ings  were  not  tragedies,  nor  histories,  nor  portraits, 
nor  narratives.  They  had  no  stories  to  tell  but  the 
story  of  beauty.  There  were  no  groups  of  men  and 
women  busy  at  nothing,  and  projecting  noisy  cos 
tumes  upon  the  scene.  The  pictures,  for  the  most 
part,  were  landscapes  full  of  poetry  and  tenderness; 
they  were  delicious  moods  of  Nature,  studies  munifi 
cent  in  color,  and  rich  with  mellow  depths  of  mys 
terious  shadows.  Who  looked  upon  these  paintings 


56  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

slipped  away  into  dreams  ;  he  was  transported  to 
Elysium ;  there  stole  over  him  rest,  and  peace,  and 
contentment." 

"  I  certainly  shall  not  quarrel  with  your  ideas  of 
pictures.  How  about  the  furniture  of  this  wonder 
ful  room  ?  " 

"  I  declare  I  do  not  know  whether  the  furniture 
was  Gothic  or  Renaissance,  Queen  Anne,  or  buhl. 
I  think  there  was  no  exactness  of  style  ;  I  remem 
ber  only  that  each  object  seemed  in  itself  beautiful, 
and  rightly  adjusted  to  the  beauty  and  character  of 
every  other  object.  The  divans,  sofas,  chairs,  all 
exhibited  repose  and  simplicity,  with  great  purity  of 
form  and  suitable  variety  of  line,  with  but  little 
carving,  and  this  a  part  of  the  wood,  instead  of  an 
adjunct  to  it.  They  were  covered  with  stuffs  the 
texture  and  tints  of  which  resembled  Eastern  rugs ; 
they  were  soft,  so  as  to  suggest  ease  and  repose  to 
the  body,  and  of  colors  whose  subdued  blendings 
gave  ease  and  repose  to  the  eye.  There  were  no 
doors,  the  bald  and  ugly  panels  of  which  no  art 
can  redeem ;  but  instead  curtains  draped  the  en 
trance-ways,  hung  from  ebony  poles.  There  were 
hanging  cabinets,  also  of  ebony,  but  picked  out  with 
tiles  and  ornaments,  which  were  filled  with  speci 
mens  of  porcelain  that  were  valuable  because  rare, 
but  more  valuable  because  selected  with  admirable 


MR.  BLUFF'S  IDEAL   OF  A   HOUSE.  57 

perception  of  harmony  of  color  and  elegance  of 
form.  There  were  shelves  with  artistic  bronzes,  me 
dallions,  and  gems ;  and  an  easel  which  held  rare 
etchings.  All  about,  indeed,  were  objects  of  great 
beauty ;  the  eye  and  the  mind  felt  both  stimulated 
and  rested  by  a  variety  that  was  not  confusion,  by 
a  splendor  that  in  its  several  parts  was  harmonious 
and  admirable.  I  have  neglected  to  say  that  the 
carpet,  which  covered  only  the  middle  space  of  the 
room,  resembled  the  walls  in  not  being  decorative 
in  itself,  but  the  base  for  decorative  objects  to 
stand  upon.  The  pile  was  thick,  the  texture  soft ; 
figures  it  had  none,  its  color  being  a  warm  gray 
with  a  red  gleam  in  it ;  there  were  upon  it  two  or 
three  rugs  of  rich  dyes,  which  relieved  what  might 
otherwise  have  been  a  monotony  of  tone ;  and  the 
easel,  the  ample  chairs,  the  cabinets,  the  screens, 
the  divans,  all  stood  painted,  as  it  were,  against 
this  modest  foil.  The  windows  were  studies.  The 
curtains  could  at  a  touch  be  so  swept  aside  as 
to  let  in  the  full  splendor  of  the  sun,  or  closed  to 
shut  it  wholly  out  when  desirable.  But  why  des 
cant  upon  these  details,  when  not  details  but  the 
rich  oneness,  the  unity,  the  perfect  ensemble,  consti 
tuted  its  supreme  charm,  its  artistic  claims  ?  Other 
rooms — " 

"  Oh,  describe  no  more  !  "  interrupted    Bluff,  im- 


5 8  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

patiently.  "  An  upholsterer  would  do  it  better.  All 
that  can  be  said  of  your  ideal  house  is  that  it  is  a 
museum,  the  different  objects  of  which  have  been 
selected  with  care  and  an  artistic  perception  of  their 
relations  to  each  other.  At  heart  you  are  like  the 
rest  of  the  world  just  now  —  in  love  with  toys, 
household  confusion,  and  show.  The  other  day  I 
nearly  broke  my  neck  over  Mrs.  Clutter's  tiger-rug. 
Why  are  there  tiger-rugs,  I  demand  to  know  ? 
Why  must  people,  in  blind  subjection  to  the  tyrant 
Fashion,  make  their  houses  preposterous  curiosity- 
shops  ?  Mrs.  Clutter's  house,  and  not  your  ideal,  is 
the  true  example  of  the  prevailing  rage.  She  has 
shut  out  all  the  light  from  her  windows  with  horse 
hair  curtains  an  inch  thick,  which  once  would  not 
have  been  thought  good  enough  for  horse-blankets. 
She  has  laid  down  her  floors  in  many-colored  rugs 
so  thickly  that  one  might  think  himself  in  a  carpet- 
dealer's  ware-rooms  ;  and  the  visitor  must  be  wary 
or  he'll  be  tripped  up  by  them  at  every  step.  She 
has  covered  her  walls  with  gorgeous  jugs,  bowls, 
jars,  urns,  vases,  of  every  conceivable  variety,  in 
which  for  the  most  part  ingenuity  in  the  way  of 
ugly  design  has  done  its  worst.  She  has  hung 
screens  in  her  doorways,  and  cabinets  over  her 
mantels.  She  has  mounted  old  brass  fire-dogs  over 
her  book-shelves,  and  planted  emblazoned  shields 


MR.  BLUFF'S  IDEAL   OF  A   HOUSE.  59 

of  metal  over  her  door-lintels.  She  has  bought  all 
the  old  worm-eaten  furniture  she  could  find,  and 
asks  you  to  sit  on  chairs  that  were  made  for  man 
kind  before  backbones  were  discovered.  She  has 
turned  the  gas  out  of  the  house,  and  illuminated  it 
with  painted  candles.  She  goes  to  bed  with  a 
Roman  candlestick,  sleeps  under  a  Moorish  rug, 
eats  off  of  cracked  china  discovered  in  a  Marble- 
head  fisherman's  cottage,  wears  a  mediaeval  gown 
that  is  all  straight  lines ;  and  she  talks  all  day  of 
Medicean  porcelain,  of  Roman  amphorcz,  and  Etrus 
can  vases ;  of  grh  de  Flandre,  Dutch  delft,  and 
Raffaellesque  and  mezza-majolica ;  of  Palissy  and 
Henri  Deux,  of  Chinese  celestial  blue  and  crackle, 
of  Japanese  eloisonnt,  old  Satsuma,  and  Hispano-Mo- 
resque,  of  Sevres  and  pdte-sur-pdte^  of  Chippendale 
and  Eastlake  furniture,  of  Queen  Anne  and  Re 
naissance  and  Marie  Antoinette,  and  so  on  ad  infi- 
nitum,  with  a  skill  at  quoting  catalogues  and  run 
ning  off  names  that  is  amazing.  Is  this  a  true 
house  that  is  made  up  of  curious  trifles  from  the 
shops  —  that  is  simply  a  chaos  of  colors,  knick- 
knacks,  and  all  forms  of  fantastic  foolishness  ?  Are 
there  breadth,  humanity,  heart,  life,  dignity,  intellect, 
felicity,  in  this  jumble  of  misnamed  art  ?  Unless 
art  broadens  the  imagination  and  stirs  the  faculties, 
there  is  no  excuse  for  its  being  ;  but  the  art  that 


60  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

Mrs.  Clutter  is  prostrate  before  dwarfs  the  imagina 
tion,  narrows  the  intellect,  and  impoverishes  the 
whole  nature.  She  has  no  sympathy  with  men  and 
women ;  it  is  all  absorbed  by  her  teacups  and  sau 
cers.  She  has  no  perceptions  of  life  except  as  a 
surrender  of  the  mind  to  her  paltry  toys,  and  she 
is  more  concerned  in  the  downfall  of  a  cracked 
plate  than  in  the  wars  and  calamities  that  afflict 
the  world  outside  of  her  bazaar.  Her  children  are 
hidden  away  in  nurseries ;  she  dares  not  permit 
them  to  bring  their  active  bodies  and  restless  spir 
its  into  her  rooms,  lest  they  knock  down  her  glass 
screens  or  break  her  precious  jars.  Emphatically, 
Mrs.  Clutter's  variety-shop  is  not  a  home.  Now,  as 
you  have  set  forth  your  dream  of  an  ideal  house, 
let  me  picture  mine. 

"  Your  ideal  is  a  town-house :  let  me  go  into 
the  country  for  mine.  The  house  that  comes  up 
in  my  imagination  has  breadth,  largeness,  and  sim 
plicity.  It  is  honest,  serene,  and  hospitable.  It  is 
not  a  castor-box  with  many  towers  and  turrets  and 
roofs ;  it  is  not  a  jumble  of  ill-contrived  rooms ;  it 
is  not  a  pagoda,  nor  an  ornamental  chalet,  nor  an 
Italian  villa.  It  is  not  a  dry-goods  box  crushed 
under  the  weight  of  a  Mansard-roof,  like  a  small 
boy  under  his  grandfather's  hat.  There  are  no  fan 
cies,  nor  fantastic  devices,  nor  contortions,  nor  cheap 


MR.  BLUFF'S  IDEAL    OF  A   HOUSE.  61 

attempts  at  loud  decoration,  in  the  house  that  I  see 
in  my  mind's  eye.  It  has  no  cupola,  real  or  make- 
believe;  but  it  has  two  or  three  genuine  balconies, 
and  it  is  without  even  that  universal  favorite  in 
our  country,  a  gallery  commonly  (but  erroneously) 
called  a  piazza." 

"  I  am  glad  in  all  your  negatives  to  catch  at 
one  affirmative — there  are  balconies,  which  fact  is 
a  beginning,  at  least,  of  this  shadowy  nondescript. 
But  why,  in  the  name  of  summer  comfort,  do  you 
abolish  the  veranda — or  piazza,  according  to  com 
mon  parlance  ?  " 

4<  Because  the  sun  and  the  light  and  the  air 
must  enter  with  ease  and  breadth  into  the  house  I 
imagine — and  covet.  An  ample  porch  gives  every 
facility  for  summer  al  fresco  sitting  and  reading 
that  a  veranda  does.  The  house  of  my  fancy  sits 
low.  Its  wide  door  is  approached  by  a  broad  and 
deep  covered  porch,  whose  paved  foundation  lifts 
but  a  few  inches  above  the  grass  that  encompasses 
it  on  its  three  open  sides.  The  windows  each  side 
of  the  porch  are  also  wide  and  low,  with  eglantine 
and  honeysuckle  twining  around  them.  These  flow 
ering  vines  keep  out  neither  air  nor  light,  but  send 
into  the  recesses  of  the  rooms  a  summer  fragrance 
that  is  always  delicious  and  refreshing.  They  are 
better  studies  in  colors  than  painted  tiles ;  they  are 


62  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

more  radiant  in  beauty  than  doisonnd  or  majolica; 
they  give  to  the  interior  a  charm  which  Mrs.  Clut 
ter's  most  desperate  efforts  can  not  even  hint  at ; 
their  freshness,  sweetness,  and  beauty,  fill  all  the 
space  with  fascination.  Your  veranda-inclosed  house 
banishes  this  bric-a-brac  of  Nature  to  a  distance.  In 
my  ideal  house  sweet  blossoms  must  grow  at  its 
feet,  they  must  twine  lovingly  about  its  windows, 
their  odors  must  enter  its  rooms,  and  their  fresh 
ness  give  perennial  charm  to  the  life  within.  I  do 
not  imagine  many  details  in  the  exterior  of  the 
house.  There  are  balconies,  as  I  have  said,  that 
are  not  make-believe  adjuncts,  but  ample  and  ser 
viceable  structures,  which  permit  me  and  mine  to 
sit  within  them  under  the  open  sky,  shadowed  only 
by  the  branches  of  the  trees  that  stand  all  around 
the  house.  I  see  also  pointed  gables,  and  chimneys 
of  carved  brick  after  the  old,  quaint,  Tudor  fashion. 
The  house  is  not  of  wood,  that  at  one  time  dazzles 
with  the  glare  of  new  paint,  and  at  another  is 
ragged  and  out-at-elbows,  as  it  were,  with  weather- 
stains  and  dilapidation.  It  is  of  stone  that  softens 
and  grows  mellow  with  the  passing  years,  that  gath 
ers  tone,  and  not  stains,  from  the  rain  and  the  sun 
shine,  and  which  permits  the  vines  to  cling  to  it 
without  getting  rotten  and  sodden  under  them. 
Can  we  ever  have  houses  that  will  fill  us  with  a 


MR.  BLUFF'S  IDEAL   OF  A   HOUSE.  63 

sense  of  their  strength  and  perpetuity,  as  if  their 
foundations  were  deep,  their  walls  a  protection,  their 
roof  an  segis,  if  we  continue  to  build  our  frail 
structures  of  clapboards? 

"  But  let  me  change  the  scene.  I  can  not  re 
lease  you  until  you  have  seen  my  ideal  house — a 
plain,  practical  sort  of  ideal  so  far,  as  you  concede 
— in  its  winter  interior." 

"  I  do  not  see  that  your  house  differs  essentially 
from  many  mansions  in  England." 

"  Where,  among  countless  ugly  structures,  are 
many  that  are  admirable  ideals  of  the  rural  house. 
If  we  ingraft  some  of  the  best  features  of  English 
picturesque  cottages  upon  the  best  features  of  their 
manors,  with  a  hint  or  two  borrowed  from  our- own 
architecture,  we  shall  have  a  country-house  that  is 
ideal  only  because  it  does  not  exist,  it  being  quite 
as  easy  of  accomplishment  as  are  the  strange  mon 
sters  that  spring  up  in  the  suburbs  of  every  town 
in  the  country. 

"  But  let  me  take  you  into  my  winter-rooms,  as 
I  picture  them.  In  that  season  we  have  the  liveliest 
sense  of  the  beneficence,  serenity,  and  comfort,  of 
home.  And  here  let  me  paint  my  scene  by  freely 
using  negatives  and  contrasts.  Those  suburban  mon 
strosities  of  which  I  have  spoken  keep  out  the  wind 
and  the  rain,  and  here  ends  pretty  much  every  real 


64  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

service  they  render.  They  have  no  felicities.  The 
floors  are  covered  usually  with  glaring  carpets  ;  the 
chilling  white  walls  of  the  rooms  are  ornamented 
with  dreary,  black  engravings,  or  with  hideous 
chromos.  The  fireplace  is  banished,  and  the  sole 
warmth  is  from  the  sickening  stove  or  the  more 
sickening  furnace.  There  are  often  books  to  read, 
for  Americans  have  intellectual  capacity  even  with 
low  artistic  perceptions.  Newspapers  and  maga 
zines,  at  least,  abound;  and  there  is  inevitably  a 
piano.  But  the  scene  is  chilling  and  dreary.  There 
is  no  feeling  of  repose  or  ease ;  nothing  to  charm 
the  senses  into  restfulness.  This  is  too  often  the 
picture  of  our  suburban,  and  sometimes  of  our  ur 
ban,  interiors. 

"  I  have  a  dream  of  another  scene.  The  snow 
whirls  and  scurries  without  ;  the  trees  sway  and 
groan  in  the  wind ;  the  sky  and  land  are  darkening 
as  the  shadows  of  night  come  apace — so  let  us  en 
ter.  Ah,  here  is  compensation  !  There  is  blaze, 
there  is  warmth,  there  is  light,  there  is  an  over 
flowing  of  strange  beauty.  The  walls,  you  quickly 
see,  are  not  of  chilling  plaster  that  peels  and  chips 
off;  nor  of  paint  that  is  always  hard  and  artistically 
unmanageable ;  nor  of  paper  that  stains  so  readily, 
and  which  ever  obtrudes  its  senseless  patterns. 
They  are  wainscoted  to  the  cornice  with  wood 


MR.  BLUFF'S  IDEAL   OF  A   HOUSE.  65 

crossed  by  a  dado-rail,  and  ornamented  with  a  few 
incised  carvings.  The  wood  is  shellacked  or  stained 
of  a  reddish  tint,  which  catches  and  reflects  the 
light  from  candles  or  fire-blaze  with  rich  effect.  A 
vast  chimney,  which  is  a  fine  piece  of  architectural 
projection,  has  an  open  fireplace,  in  which  logs  are 
blazing.  The  mantel  is  heavy,  and  holds  spreading 
candelabra,  and  a  vase  or  two.  Even  a  little  bric- 
a-brac  enters  my  country-house — but  very  little,  be 
certain.  Upon  the  walls  hang  several  pictures  of 
superb  color  —  rich,  still-life  subjects  that  glow  in 
deep  tones,  and  catch  radiant  lights  from  the  blaze 
on  the  hearth.  Still-life  subjects  are  chosen  because 
this  room  with  its  dark  walls  might  be  somber  were 
there  not  marked  foci  of  color.  But  it  is  not  som 
ber.  The  floor,  as  I  see  it,  is  warm  with  a  central 
carpet  of  rich  dyes.  There  are  large  tables,  massive 
and  commodious  chairs,  many  books  —  books  are, 
indeed,  abundant ;  they  lie  on  the  tables,  and  fill 
low  shelves  that  skirt  two  sides  of  the  room.  Warm- 
colored  stuffs  hang  over  the  windows  to  exclude 
intruding  draughts  of  air,  and  doors  open  into 
an  adjoining  room  similarly  furnished,  save  that  a 
hospitable  sideboard  looks  festive  with  china  and 
glass. 

"  Mark    what   it   is   that    I    see    in   my   vision — a 
room  of  space,  color,   light,  and   tone;   where  there 


66  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

is  neither  emptiness  nor  profusion,  neither  glitter  nor 
dreariness;  where  there  are  breadth  and  substance, 
charm  for  the  eye,  restfulness  for  the  soul,  anima 
tion  for  the  spirit. 

"  And,  after  all,  what  is  any  picture  unless  human 
life  comes  in  to  grace  it?  I  see  in  my  dream  fair 
girls  on  summer  days  sitting  in  the  framework  of 
my  vine-trellised  windows ;  I  watch  in  my  winter 
vision  young  women  in  soft,  graceful  drapery  mov 
ing  resplendent  in  the  glow  of  the  fire-light;  I  hear 
merry  voices,  and  see  bright  faces,  and  catch  the 
gleam  of  tender  eyes  ;  and  over  all  broods  the 
spirit  of  harmony  and  peace.  This  is  my  ideal. 
Art  is  there,  but  it  is  a  handmaid,  not  a  tyrannical 
fashion.  There  are  correctness  without  severity,  sim 
plicity  without  baldness,  decoration  without  fussi- 
ness,  beauty  without  frivolity,  and  every  place  is  for 
occupancy,  and  everything  for  use.  We  eat  un 
der  similar  pleasant  conditions  ;  our  chambers  have 
warm  hangings,  cheerful  blaze  on  their  hearths, 
good  pictures  on  their  walls.  Handsome  boys  and 
fair  girls  give  felicity  to  this  house,  and  they  bor 
row  from  it  their  profoundest  peace.  Let  each 
man  put  into  his  dream  the  house  that  he  loves — 
I  have  given  you  with  off-hand  touches  the  ideal 
of  mine." 

The    Bachelor   paused.      Was    that    a   mist   that 


MR.  BLUFF'S  IDEAL   OF  A   HOUSE.'          67 

dimmed  his  eyes  ?  Who  shall  say  what  memories 
of  "  handsome  boys  and  fair  girls "  once  alive  in 
his  fancy,  but  which  a  perverse  fate  had  rendered 
impossible,  were  now  bringing  that  dew  to  his  eye 
lids  ? 


V. 


MR.    BLUFF   ON    FEMININE    TACT   AND 
INTUITIONS. 

(In  the  Drawing-JRoom.') 

MIRANDA, 
BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

"  You  must  admit,  Mr.  Bluff,"  remarked  Miran 
da,  in  her  smoothest  and  most  persuasive  tones, 
"  that  women  are  superior  to  men  in  their  intui 
tions." 

"  Admit  it !  "  exclaimed  Bachelor  Bluff,  sharply, 
yet  with  a  strenuous  effort  to  be  polite  and  deferen 
tial  toward  the  charming  young  lady  who  had 
uttered  this  bit  of  philosophy — "admit  it!  No, 
madam,  I  deny  it  emphatically ;  in  fact,  I  affirm 
there  never  was  a  more  unfounded,  brazen,  and  au 
dacious  piece  of  humbug." 

"  Really,  Mr.  Bluff,  you  are  too  eccentric.  Does 
not  every  one  say  that,  while  man  is  forced  to  reach 
his  conclusions  by  laborious  processes  of  reasoning, 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  FEMININE    TACT,  ETC.       69 

woman  leaps  to  hers  by  swift  and  unerring  intui 
tion  ?  " 

"  Yes,  madam,  we  have  been  told  so  ceaselessly 
by  novelists,  social  essayists,  and  would-be  philoso 
phers  of  the  drawing-room  ;  in  fact,  the  thing  has 
been  asserted  so  often,  that  many  people  accept  it 
as  a  matter  of  course.  I  do  not  remember,  indeed, 
of  ever  hearing  the  assertion  disputed,  or  of  meet 
ing  in  any  writings  of  an  attempt  to  examine  its 
foundations.  Nevertheless,  the  theory  is  entirely 
without  support.  There  is  not  only  not  the  slight 
est  evidence  in  its  favor,  but  all  the  facts  distinctly 
indicate  that  there  is  no  such  thing.  Shall  I  ex 
pound,  madam  ? — or  perhaps  you  do  not  care  to 
hear  a  favorite  theory  ruthlessly  trampled  upon." 

"  Oh,  go  on,  by  all  means,  Mr.  Bluff.  We  all 
know  your  reputation  for  original  notions.  We  must 
call  you  the  drawing-room  iconoclast,  for  you  at 
tack  all  our  favorite  ideas." 

"  Let  me,  madam,  rehearse  the  evidence,  and  then 
say  whether  I  attack  favorite  ideas  wantonly  or  ig- 
norantly.  In  the  first  place,  you  must  see  that,  if 
women  have  the  power  of  perceiving  facts  or  ac 
quiring  true  knowledge  by  intuition,  they  are  en 
dowed  with  a  sixth  sense,  equipped  in  a  way  that 
must  necessarily  give  them  an  advantage  over  men 
in  all  the  affairs  of  life.  In  such  a  case  women 


7° 


BACHELOR  BLUFF. 


would  be  safer  guides  than  men  in  almost  every 
thing,  and  especially  in  those  things  unsusceptible  of 
proof,  in  which  we  are  necessarily  governed  by  our 
impressions.  Women  ought  to  be,  admitting  the 
theory  to  be  true,  very  much  better  judges  of  char 
acter  than  men.  They  would  be  furnished  with 
means  for  more  prompt  decision  in  many  emergen 
cies.  They  would  make  fewer  mistakes  in  social 
questions.  They  would  be  better  protected  against 
the  designs  of  scoundrels.  They  would  be  less  sus 
ceptible  to  delusions  of  the  senses,  and  less  easily 
led  away  by  false  logic.  Intuitional  perceptions  be 
ing  the  operation  of  a  natural  force,  women  who 
possess  them  would  not  only  be  able  to  reach  re 
sults  sooner  than  men,  but  their  conclusions  would 
be  more  sound  and  trustworthy — for  to  reason  right 
ly  requires  training  and  experience,  and  consequent 
ly,  while  men  with  little  experience  and  no  training 
would  stumble  greatly  in  their  efforts  to  sift  evi 
dence  and  arrive  at  the  truth,  women  would  com 
monly  be  right  off-hand.  Do  you  follow  me,  mad 
am  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  So  far  you  have  shown  that  if  women 
have  intuitions  they  are  more  richly  endowed  than 
men.  Well,  Mr.  Bluff,  that  is  exactly  what  some  of 
us  think." 

"  Then,  madam,  if  your   sex   is   more   richly  en- 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  FEMININE    TACT,  ETC.       71 

dowed  in  this  way,  your  intuitions  ought  to  serve 
you  in  affairs  generally.  Do  they?  That  is  the 
test.  Now,  I  have  never  been  able  to  detect  in 
women  a  special  fitness  for  dealing  with  the  prob 
lems  of  life,  big  or  little.  If  women  have  intuitional 
perceptions,  they  ought  to  be  very  successful  specu 
lators,  and,  though  they  can  not  well  go  into  Wall 
Street  themselves,  Wall  Street  men  would  be  sure  in 
such  case  to  act  solely  by  the  advice  and  direction 
of  their  wives ;  and,  if  married  brokers  availed 
themselves  of  this  power  at  their  hand,  they  would 
soon  drive  bachelor  brokers  out  of  the  field — or,  at 
least,  into  matrimony.  Every  speculator  with  a  wife 
would  be  sure,  you  see,  of  a  fortune.  Then,  if  the 
theory  is  true,  no  politician  would  ever  make  a 
move  without  first  having  consulted  the  intuitions 
of  some  accomplished  woman.  Women  have  some 
times  acted  wise  parts  in  politics." 

"  And  have  not  successful  men,"  interrupted  Mi 
randa,  "  often  acknowledged  the  great  aid  rendered 
by  their  wives  ?  Recollect  Lord  Beaconsfield,  and 
what  he  says  about  the  service  woman  was  to  him." 

"  I  do,  madam  ;  and  I  greatly  honor  the  woman 
who  thus  upholds  the  ambition  and  great  purposes 
of  her  husband.  But  in  these  occasional  instances 
the  women  have  possessed  superior  intellect  and 
good  reasoning  powers ;  they  have,  you  may  be 


72  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

sure,  aided  the  men  along  the  lines  the  men  have 
worked ;  they  have  helped  them  to  their  ends  by 
the  highway  of  reason  and  judgment,  and  not  se 
duced  them  into  morasses  by  promises  of  mysterious 
short  cuts.  In  ordinary  business,  just  as  in  more 
important  matters,  there  is  no  evidence  that  intui 
tion  is  worth  anything,  much  less  equal  in  value  to 
experience,  or  that  it  in  any  way  can  be  substituted 
for  it.  The  trader,  man  or  woman,  who,  instead  of 
studying  the  market,  bought  and  sold  by  intuition, 
would  soon  go  to  wreck." 

"  But  how  about  domestic  life  ?  " 

"  In  domestic  life,  madam,  you  will  find  that 
women  do  not  secure  more  trusty  friends  than  men 
do ;  nor  are  they  more  successful  than  men  in  se 
lecting  servants.  They  do  not  adjust  themselves 
more  happily  to  the  tempers  and  failings  of  com 
panions;  nor  more  quickly  perceive  the  consequences 
of  a  misspoken  word;  nor  read  character  more  accu 
rately;  nor  exhibit  more  insight  into  the  future — than 
the  masculine  sex  does.  In  all  these  things  there 
are  great  differences  in  individuals,  but  there  is  no 
evidence  on  record  or  attainable  to  show  that  the 
difference  separates  along  the  line  of  sex;  or,  if  the 
separation  is  ever  along  the  line  of  sex,  it  is  against 
yours,  madam — simply,  however,  because  it  has  less 
knowledge  of  the  world  and  is  more  impressible 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  FEMININE    TACT,  ETC.       73 

than  ours.  It  is  notoriously  the  woman  and  not  the 
man  who  is  deceived  by  the  soft  manners  and  oily 
pretensions  of  the  quack;  it  is  the  woman  always 
who  is  overcome  by  the  hypocritical  unction  of  the 
Rev.  Honeymans." 

"  This  is  a  formidable  array  of  arguments  against 
me.  I  must  take  time  to  consider  them." 

"  And  yet,  madam,  I  have  not  stated  the  most 
decided  test  of  all.  The  most  important  event  in 
the  life  of  a  woman,  you  will  acknowledge,  is  the 
selection  of  a  husband.  In  nothing  else  would  a 
power  of  intuitional  perception  have  a  better  oppor 
tunity  to  evince  itself,  or  be  of  greater  service  to 
the  possessor.  This  may  be  fairly  called  a  crucial 
test ;  and  the  moment  it  is  applied  the  theory  falls 
to  the  ground  utterly.  That  men,  who  confessedly 
are  without  intuitions,  often  make  sad  mistakes  in 
selecting  their  life-companions,  we  all  know ;  but 
do  they  err,  madam,  as  frequently  as  women  do  ? 
Men  are  often  fascinated  by  bad  women,  deluded 
by  selfish,  wrong-hearted  women ;  but  of  all  hope 
lessly  blind  creatures  there  is  none  to  equal  a  young 
woman  enamored  of  an  unworthy  man.  Sometimes 
it  is  a  smooth  and  plausible  rake ;  sometimes  a 
showy,  innately  vulgar  fellow  with  bad  habits  and 
atrocious  tastes ;  sometimes  a  man  whose  fiber  is 
coarse,  and  who  is  sure  to  develop  into  a  brutal 


74  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

and  tyrannical  master ;  sometimes  it  is  a  man  whose 
cold  and  selfish  heart  is  for  the  moment  concealed 
under  an  affectation  of  sympathy  and  affection.  In 
whatever  guise  the  deceiver  comes,  the  woman,  in  a 
majority  of  instances,  is  utterly  deluded.  She  fails 
to  see  the  mask,  or  to  detect  the  real  character  that 
it  hides.  She  refuses  to  listen  to  reason  ;  she  will 
not  believe  the  wise  cautions  of  her  friends ;  she 
rejects  evidence ;  she  will  not  listen  to  admonitions 
or  warnings ;  she  insists  upon  trusting  to  her  intui 
tions,  so  called,  and  as  a  consequence  her  happi 
ness  is  wrecked  for  life.  How  many  woful,  pitiful 
tragedies  have  occurred  in  this  way  !  " 

"  I  declare,  Mr.  Bluff,  you  can  be  quite  pathetic ; 
and  you  are  right  too,  I  do  believe." 

"  Indisputably  right,  madam,"  said  Mr.  Bluff,  ris 
ing,  and  walking  about  excitedly  ;  "  and  it  is  mon 
strous  for  people  who  ought  to  know  better  to  talk 
of  womanly  intuitions  in  face  of  facts  like  these. 
They  do,  I  tell  you,  incalculable  injury.  Instead  of 
showing  that  reason  is  the  only  safe  dependence, 
that  all  persons  must  be  wary  of  hasty  impressions, 
that  we  can  not  trust  any  guide  but  sound  judg 
ment,  young  women  are  brought  up  with  the  notion 
that  they  are  endowed  with  a  special  talisman,  that 
they  possess  an  occult,  mysterious,  short-hand  meth 
od  of  getting  at  facts ;  that  they  are  not  obliged  to 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  FEMININE    TACT,  ETC.       75 

sift  evidence  and  weigh  circumstances,  but  have  only 
to  trust  implicitly  to  certain  implanted  impulses  or 
instincts — and  as  a  result  they  too  frequently  make 
appalling  and  irretrievable  mistakes.  There  never 
was,  I  repeat,  madam,  a  more  unblushing  and  mon 
strous  humbug  than  this  theory  of  womanly  intui 
tions,  and,  as  it  is  infinitely  mischievous,  those  who 
affirm  it  ought  to  be  brought  sharply  to  the  bar  of 
a  revised  public  opinion.  Do  you  not  agree  with 
me  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  the  lady,  "  that  we  have  de 
luded  ourselves  in  this  way.  Women  are  suscepti 
ble,  quick  to  take  impressions,  very  ignorant  of  the 
world,  and  in  their  ignorance  supremely  confident  in 
the  truth  of  spontaneous  impressions." 

"  Many  years  ago,  madam,  a  phrenologist  as 
sured  me  that  I  should  always  trust  my  first  im 
pressions,  specially  of  men  and  women.  'You  will,' 
he  said,  *  often  reason  yourself  into  another  belief, 
and  thereby  be  deceived;  for  always  the  idea  that 
you  instantaneously  form  of  a  person  is  intuitively 
the  right  one.'  Well,  madam,  I  have  never  forgotten 
the  advice,  and  I  have  tested  it  many  times;  and 
invariably  the  phrenologist's  theory  has  been  wrong. 
I  have  not  been  and  am  not  able  to  form  correct 
judgments  of  men  and  women  off-hand.  First  im 
pressions  have  been  commonly  very  misleading.  I 


76  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

have  found  it  necessary  to  study  a  man  well  before 
fully  measuring  and  comprehending  his  character, 
and  I  don't  believe  that  other  people  are  better  off 
in  this  particular  than  I  am.  I  do  not  mean  that 
some  faces  are  not  obviously  honest  and  open  in 
their  character,  and  others  dark  and  suspicious. 
Very  marked  tendencies  are  probably  never  con 
cealed  ;  but  much  the  larger  number  of  men  and 
women  have  not  distinctly  marked  tendencies,  and 
these  people  can  only  be  understood  by  some  meas 
ure  of  familiar  acquaintance." 

"  If  you  will  not  grant  intuition  to  women,"  said 
the  lady,  "  you  will  at  least  acknowledge  their  su 
periority  in  all  matters  of  tact  and  delicate  manage 
ment." 

"  I  absolutely  have  the  temerity,"  replied  the 
Bachelor,  "  to  dispute  even  this  theory." 

"  Good  gracious !  Mr.  Bluff,  will  you  not  leave 
us  anything?  " 

"  A  thousand  admirable  virtues,  madam  ;  but 
as  to  tact  you  possess  it  equally  with  men  in  all 
those  things  in  which  your  experiences  are  equal  to 
them,  and  your  tact  is  superior  in  all  things  in 
which  your  experiences  are  greater.  Tact,  I  sup 
pose,  may  be  defined  as  a  quick  and  nice  discern 
ment,  a  prompt  perception  of  circumstances  and 
facts,  a  ready  appreciation  of  other  people's  feelings 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  FEMININE    TACT,  ETC.       77 

or  tastes,  a  happy  faculty  in  turning  the  corners 
and  meeting  the  exigencies  of  social  intercourse." 

"  In  all  the  many  minor  things  of  the  drawing- 
room,"  said  Miranda,  "women  are  invariably  more 
ready  than  men.  Women  acquire  the  manners,  the 
ease,  the  air  of  the  salon  sooner  than  men  do ;  they 
are  commonly  more  at  home  there;  they  are  more 
vivacious,  more  sympathetic,  quicker  to  see  and 
act." 

"This  difference,"  replied  Mr.  Bluff,  "is,  how 
ever,  more  noticeable  between  young  than  between 
elderly  people.  The  girl  learns  the  art  of  society 
with  ease,  while  the  boy  commonly  undergoes  a 
long  and  painful  novitiate  ;  but  the  man  of  ma 
turity,  when  also  a  gentleman,  has  acquired  social 
deftness  in  all  its  phases,  and  is  master  of  the  art 
usually  defined  as  tact.  While  we  are  often  called 
upon  to  admire  the  skill  and  deftness  of  an  accom 
plished  hostess,  we  shall  find  that  an  accomplished 
host  receives  his  guests  or  presides  at  table  with  an 
art  that  is  in  no  wise  inferior.  I  will,  however, 
concede  that  in  the  drawing-room  women,  as  a  rule, 
have  more  tact  than  men.  But,  when  we  extend 
our  observation  over  a  larger  area,  what  do  we  dis 
cover?  If  we  take  up  either  domestic  life,  or  busi 
ness  life,  or  the  various  organizations  in  which  men 
and  women  gather,  it  is  not  apparent  that  women 


7 8  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

are  more  adroit  or  more  skillful,  or  that  they  have 
nicer  discernment  or  better  perceptions  than  men. 
I  am  afraid,  indeed,  madam,  that  an  impartial  ex 
amination  of  the  evidence  will  show  that,  instead  of 
men  being  more  insensible  and  less  adroit  than 
women,  they  distinctly  exhibit  in  important  things 
a  superior  skill." 

"  Humph !  this  is  rather  a  bold  defiance  of  ac 
cepted  notions." 

"  Let  us  scan  the  evidence,  madam,  and  see. 
Is  it  not  notorious  that  much  the  greater  number 
of  domestic  quarrels  originate  among  the  women  of 
the  family?  The  altercations  and  differences  that 
so  frequently  exist  between  families  united  by  mar 
riage  are  almost  always  on  the  side  of  the  women. 
Men  are  dragged  in  and  become  partisans  in  the 
warfare ;  but  gauntlets  are  commonly  first  exchanged 
between  the  ladies.  Assuredly,  if  tact  is  a  quality 
desirable  in  the  drawing-room  as  a  sort  of  social 
buffer,  smoothing  sharp  angles  and  softening  col 
lisions,  the  very  field  for  it  is  the  domestic  hearth, 
where  the  unapt  word,  the  ill-considered  retort,  or 
the  loss  of  self-command,  is  so  productive  of  mis 
chief.  Can  it  be  asserted  that  in  this  domain  wom 
en,  as  a  class,  have  more  tact  than  men  ?  Is  peace 
between  husband  and  wife  more  often  maintained 
by  the  wise  repression,  the  soft  answer,  the  skillful 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  FEMININE    TACT,  ETC.       79 

word,  the  adroit  evasion  of  an  issue,  on  the  part  of 
wives  than  of  husbands?  If  we,  madam,  Asmodeus- 
like,  could  peep  beneath  the  roofs  of  houses,  which 
sex  would  we  find  most  freely  occupied  in  nagging? 
Which  would  we  discover  most  commonly  taking 
offense  at  the  casual  word?  Which  would  be  show 
ing  a  superior  skill  in  meeting  and  turning  the  dan 
gerous  little  things  that  arise  hourly  in  every  cir 
cle  ?  In  that  tact  which  teaches  us  when  to  hold 
our  tongues  and  when  to  speak,  what  to  see  and 
what  not  to  see,  I  suspect  that  the  masculine  part 
of  the  community  may  claim  some  little  preeminence. 
Of  course,  I  am  generalizing  here.  We  have  all 
met  with  sweet-tempered  wives  and  brutal  husbands; 
but  among  the  average  right-intentioned  people  it  is 
a  deficiency  of  tact  that  so  often  causes  collisions, 
and  this  deficiency  is  at  least  common  with  both 
sexes.  Young  women,  my  dear  lady,  are  very  skill 
ful  in  managing  their  lovers,  but  many  of  them  too 
frequently  lose  their  skill  when  they  come  to  man 
age  their  husbands." 

"  How  dreadfully  tiresome  it  must  be,  Mr.  Bluff, 
to  be  always  so  exceedingly  judicial ! — and  yet  you 
are  judicial  without  being  just.  Men  are  stolid  and 
stupid;  they  don't  quarrel  because  they  are  so  in 
tensely  selfish  and  indifferent.  Women  are  quicker, 
and  more  susceptible;  they  have  warmer  feelings; 


80  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

they  are  more  impulsive ;  they  are  moved  sooner  to 
righteous  indignation  ;  they  are — " 

"All  that  you  say;  no  doubt  it  is  more  difficult 
for  a  woman  to  suppress  her  indignation,  to  conceal 
irritation,  to  ignore  unpleasantness,  to  feel  or  affect 
indifference ;  but  you  see,  madam,  we  are  not  in 
quiring  into  causes,  but  as  to  the  fact.  Women  are 
declared  to  have  more  tact  than  men ;  so  they  have 
in  some  social  things  ;  but  in  important  things  I 
think  not.  It  is,  for  instance,  the  lack  of  tact  on 
the  part  of  women  that  sets  clique  against  clique  in 
congregations,  and  in  church  societies  of  all  kinds; 
that  causes  almost  all  associations  organized  by 
women  to  break  up  in  differences;  that  keeps  so 
many  people  in  hot  water  in  family  hotels  and 
boarding-houses,  or  wherever  lovely  woman  pre 
dominates.  It  is  to  a  lack  of  tact  that  we  owe  the 
traditional  mother-in-law.  Fathers-in-law  have  no 
bad  reputations  anywhere.  May  I  not  say  this  is 
because  they  have  too  much  tact  to  interfere,  too 
much  tact  to  take  notice  of  trifles,  too  much  tact  to 
be  fussy  and  irritating  in  matters  that  should  be 
wisely  left  alone  ? 

"  Does  any  woman  realize  how  much  tact  men 
are  found  to  exhibit  in  order  to  successfully  keep 
their  place  in  life  ?  It  has  been  shrewdly  doubted, 
you  know,  whether  clubs  would  be  possible  with 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  FEMININE    TACT,  ETC.       8l 

ladies  —  not  merely  because  they  have  not  the  club 
disposition,  but  because  they  can  not  abide  together 
without  getting  into  hostile  divisions.  It  takes  a 
good  deal  of  tact  to  meet  daily  on  familiar  and 
equal  terms  with  numerous  persons,  and  keep  all 
irritating  things  out  of  sight.  The  club  is  possible 
in  the  highest  civilization  only  because  nothing  but 
the  self-repression  that  comes  of  the  highest  social 
training  permits  men  of  diverse  interests  and  tastes 
to  come  together  harmoniously.  The  club  affords 
an  excellent  test  of  tact  ;  and  if  men  are  better 
adapted  than  women  for  club-life,  if  they  can  live 
together  in  this  way  without  collisions,  they  have 
established  the  possession  of  tact  more  effectually 
than  even  the  requirements  of  the  drawing-room  es 
tablish  it  for  women. 

"Then,  it  is  impossible  for  one  to  succeed  in 
any  of  the  professions  without  the  exercise  of  a 
great  deal  of  tact.  A  lawyer  must  possess  it  su 
premely,  not  only  in  dealing  with  obstinate  and  pas 
sionate  clients,  but  in  the  court-room,  with  judges, 
juries,  and  witnesses.  A  physician  must  possess  it 
to  a  degree  that  only  comes  from  a  fortunate  tem 
perament  and  long  practice.  He  must  evade,  hu 
mor,  cajole,  please,  keep  his  temper,  repress  his  im 
patience,  hold  himself  well  in  hand,  and  know  always 
how  to  answer  questions  by  saying  something  that 


82  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

means  nothing.  A  clergyman  must  be  endowed  with 
tact,  or  he  will  soon  be  on  the  rocks.  He  must 
keep  in  good-humor  opposing  cliques,  bear  patiently 
with  ignorance  and  self-assertion,  deal  with  caprice 
as  if  it  were  wisdom,  and  know  how  to  harmonize 
the  ever-ruffling  matrons  of  his  flock.  The  tact 
that  men  exhibit  in  these  ways  certainly  excels  that 
which  a  woman  displays  in  managing  the  wholly 
willing  material  of  a  dancing  party  or  a  pleasure 
expedition." 

"  I  declare,  Mr.  Bluff,  one  should  never  open  a 
subject  with  you  until  she  has  studied  it  for  weeks." 

"  One  more  illustration,  madam,  and  I  have 
done.  The  supremest  exhibition  of  tact  is  to  be 
found  in  the  Congressional  or  political  leader.  A 
statesman  representing  a  party  or  a  faction  is  pressed 
on  all  sides  with  conflicting  interests,  obliged  to  har 
monize  discordant  materials,  to  be  patient  with  impa 
tience,  to  cover  up  the  mistakes  of  indiscreet  zeal, 
to  utter  the  timely  word  that  heals  accidental  wounds, 
and  the  appreciative  word  that  rewards  the  voluntary 
service ;  he  must  know  when  to  advance  upon  oppo 
nents  and  when  to  withdraw ;  how  to  regulate  and 
adjust  endless  diversities  of  passion,  ambition,  selfish 
ness,  and  intrigue.  In  men  placed  in  these  supreme 
and  trying  situations,  we  often  find  a  tact  that 
amounts  almost  to  inspiration.  And  while  it  can 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  FEMININE    TACT,  ETC.       83 

not  be  safely  said  that  women  similarly  trained  and 
similarly  placed  would  be  unequal  to  men,  it  is  at 
least  idle  to  talk  of  the  superior  tact  of  women  in 
face  of  the  fact  that  all  great  opportunities  for  the 
display  of  this  talent,  and  all  great  manifestations  of 
it,  are  confined  exclusively  to  men — to  the  sex  which 
it  is  fashionable  to  characterize  as  clumsy  and  blun 
dering." 

"Do  you  think,  Mr.  Bluff,"  said  the  lady,  look 
ing  up  into  the  Bachelor's  face  archly,  "  that  you 
have  shown  much  tact  in  saying  all  these  unhand 
some  things  about  my  sex  to  me,  a  woman  ?  " 

"  Yes,  madam,  the  very  best  tact  in  the  world. 
For  I  counted  on  your  good  sense,  and  believed 
that  with  you,  as  with  any  superior  woman,  I  could 
venture  to  speak  with  entire  frankness  and  confi 
dence." 


VI. 

MR.   BLUFF   ON    REALISM    IN    ART. 

(On  the  Lawn,  on  a  Summer  Afternoon.) 

BACHELOR  BLUFF, 
AN  ARTIST. 

Bachelor  Bluff  (throwing  down  a  magazine]. 
Really,  Macbeth's  "  nothing  is  but  what  is  not " 
applies  to  critical  canons  more  than  to  anything 
else.  Everything  escapes,  eludes,  vanishes,  is  trans 
formed  under  the  Protean  changes  of  critical  dog 
mas.  Do  any  class  agree,  for  instance,  as  to  what 
art  is  or  what  it  should  be?  It  is  spiritual  insight, 
says  one ;  it  is  pure  sensuousness,  utters  another ;  it 
is  a  story  told  to  the  eye,  affirms  a  third;  it  is  not 
a  story  at  all,  but  a  scheme  of  color,  declares  a 
fourth;  it  is  a  dream  on  canvas  or  in  marble,  says 
a  fifth ;  it  is  the  simple  truth  of  nature,  asserts  some 
one  else ;  it  is  creation ;  it  is  selecting  and  combin 
ing;  it  is  technical  skill  plus  imagination;  it  is  join 
ing  or  putting  together  with  or  without  imagination; 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  REALISM  IN  ART.  g$ 

it  is  —  well,  it  seems  to  be  whatever  anybody  may 
ingeniously  suppose  it  to  be. 

Artist.  Art,  of  course,  is  scientifically  undefinable, 
just  as  wit  and  humor  and  other  abstract  qualities 
are.  It  is  conceded  now,  however,  that  true  art  is 
not  imitation,  but  creation ;  that  it  begins  where  im 
agination  begins ;  that  it  is  evinced  by  something 
which  the  artist  puts  into  his  picture  from  the 
depths  of  his  own  soul,  by  the  beauty  evolved  from 
himself  and  infused  into  his  work. 

Bluff.  Yes,  I  know.  Art  is  not  art  unless  it  gets 
its  head  in  the  clouds,  until  it  ceases  to  be  some 
thing  measurable  and  comprehensible,  and  loses  itself 
in  a  mist.  This  is  the  dogma  of  the  new  aesthetic 
and  ecstatic  school.  Giving  the  school  all  the  re 
spect  that  by  the  utmost  stretch  is  its  due,  all  that 
can  be  said  is  that  this  is  the  definition  of  sensuous 
imaginative  art.  I  say  sensuous  imaginative,  for  all 
this  transcendental  art  is,  at  bottom,  of  the  earth, 
earthy — it  is  ultra-sensuous,  an  intoxication  of  color 
and  form.  A  definition  of  art  that  embraces  only  a 
part  of  the  facts,  that  excludes  nineteen  twentieths 
of  the  things  that  are  commonly  included  in  art,  is 
certainly  as  arbitrary  as  it  is  inadequate.  There 
are  imaginative  art,  graphic  art,  picturesque  art, 
decorative  art,  and  the  average  man  has  no  diffi 
culty  whatever  in  determining  what  things  belong 


86  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

to  art  and  what  do  not.  It  is  only  when  a  mind 
of  unscientific  training  feels  called  upon  to  define, 
that  confusion  ensues.  And  this  confusion  arises 
mainly  from  confounding  degree  with  kind,  as  there 
are  people  who  insist  that  poetry  means  something 
exalted,  whereas  it  only  means  a  definite  form  of 
literary  expression.  It  is  not  imagination,  nor  im 
agery,  nor  beauty,  that  distinguishes  poetry  from 
prose,  but  simply  metrical  arrangement.  In  the 
same  way  it  is  not  imagination,  nor  mystery,  nor 
spirituality,  nor  exaltation  of  any  kind,  that  makes 
art,  for  these  things  relate  only  to  degree  and 
quality,  to  certain  phases  of  art.  Art  begins  at  the 
beginning;  it  is  in  the  rude  sculpture  of  the  Egyp 
tian  or  the  Aztec,  in  the  tentative  and  often  gro 
tesque  efforts  of  the  earliest  painters,  in  the  crude 
sketch  of  the  novice. 

Artist.  But  art  assuredly  must  mean  performance, 
and  not  mere  attempt  at  performance.  It  must  have 
some  significance,  some  thought,  some  appeal  to  the 
higher  feelings.  It  must  reveal  to  us  forms  of 
beauty,  and  awaken  in  us  spiritual  pleasure.  If 
your  idea  is  pushed  to  the  extreme,  then  art  must 
include  every  form  of  mere  mechanical  execution, 
every  piece  of  unimaginative  literalism,  every  form 
of  feeble  manipulation.  No  one  will  assent  to  your 
judgment.  Art  begins  this  side  of  mechanism,  and 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  REALISM  IN  ART.  87 

this  side  of  every  form  of  literalism ;  its  essential 
quality  is — 

Bluff.  What?  That  is  the  whole  question.  If 
we  can  find  the  essential  quality  of  art,  the  indis 
putable  something  the  presence  of  which  can  be 
detected,  we  shall  have  a  definition  of  art. 

Artist.    Is  it  not  beauty  ? 

Bluff.  Beauty  covers  a  vast  field  in  art,  and  we 
often  hear  it  declared  to  be  its  real  purpose.  The 
real  purpose  of  art  is  not  so  easily  ascertained. 
That  beauty  is  not  the  essential  quality  of  art  is 
evident  from  the  fact  that  very  ugly  scenes  in  nat 
ure  have  been  painted  with  such  vigor  and  skill  as 
to  fairly  captivate  the  beholder.  Some  of  the  French 
landscapists  will  fascinate  you  with  a  marsh,  a  few 
stunted,  deformed  trees,  and  a  sky.  A  symmetrical 
tree  gives  us  the  lines  of  beauty,  but  there  isn't  an 
artist  anywhere  that  doesn't  prefer  twisted,  mis 
shapen  trees  to  symmetrical  ones.  There  is  more 
character  in  them,  he  will  say.  But  yet  character 
does  not  make  art.  Some  artists  with  us  seem  fairly 
to  detest  beauty.  They  wish  to  be  bold,  strong, 
virile;  and  they  appear  to  delight  in  ugliness.  The 
impressionists  think  themselves  preeminently  artists, 
yet  their  claims  to  art  lie  in  the  exclusion  of  form, 
of  color,  of  meaning,  and  of  every  suggestion  of 
beauty — as  beauty  is  commonly  understood.  No ; 


88  BACHHLOR  BLUFF. 

beauty  is  only  one  factor  in  art.  Art  may  awaken 
sensations  of  awe  or  of  sympathy ;  it  may  be  weird, 
gaunt,  grotesque,  and  melancholy ;  it  may  deal  with 
storm,  turbulence,  anger,  passion,  death.  It  has,  in 
fact,  the  whole  field  of  expression,  and  is  as  catholic 
as  life  and  the  world. 

Artist.  I  do  not  dispute  its  range  of  expression, 
although  art  continually  makes  excursions  into  fields 
where  it  does  not  legitimately  belong.  But,  while 
the  range  of  expression  may  be  wide,  the  range  of 
performance  has  its  limits.  Not  every  one  who  says 
"  I  am  an  artist  "  really  reaches  to  art. 

Bluff.  To  worthy  art,  I  grant.  But  I  wish  to  scru 
tinize  this  notion  that  art  begins  somewhere  with 
the  beginning  of  the  ideal.  When  I  turn  over  an 
artist's  portfolios  I  find  scores  of  sketches — now  the 
trunk  of  a  tree,  now  a  head  or  figure,  now  a  mass 
of  rocks,  now  a  study  of  a  ruin,  now  a  bit  of  coast. 
Are  these  things  not  art  ?  Meissonier  once,  when 
dining,  caught  up  a  burned  match  and,  half  forget 
fully,  began  drawing  a  figure  on  the  tablecloth. 
The  host  quietly  thrust  other  burned  matches  in  his 
way ;  and  so  spirited  was  the  figure  drawn  in  this 
spontaneous  way  that  the  delighted  host  afterward 
had  the  cloth  framed.  Was  not  this  sketch  art? 
Are  not  Detaille's  single  military  figures  art  ?  Are 
not  Tenniel's  cartoons  and  Du  Maurier's  capital  so- 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  REALISM  IN  ART.  89 

cial  sketches  in  "  Punch  "  to  be  considered  as  art  ? 
Is  not  an  etching  by  Haden  or  Unger  art  ?  Is  not 
an  Etruscan  vase,  a  piece  of  majolica  ware,  an  old 
bit  of  repousst  silver-work,  a  piece  of  carving  by 
Gibbons,  art  ?  Come,  where  will  you  draw  the  line  ? 

Artist.  By  a  cheap  license  of  speech,  art  covers 
almost  everything  that  people  desire  to  make  it 
cover.  There  are  art  tailors  and  art  boot-makers, 
you  know.  A  term  that  is  made  to  mean  every 
thing  soon  ceases  to  mean  anything.  I  must  insist 
upon  it  that  art,  in  its  fullness  and  completeness, 
means  imaginative  and  creative  putting  together.  I 
have  no  inclination  to  consider  the  innumerable  idle 
things  that  borrow  its  name. 

Bluff.  In  one  sense  you  are  right.  There  is  im 
aginative  work  in  all  genuine  art,  but  it  is  that 
power  of  imagination  which  enables  one  to  see 
things  as  they  are,  and  grasp  all  the  facts.  Realism 
is  absolutely  a  very  high  order  of  imagination.  Look, 
now,  at  yonder  group  of  trees,  with  tints  just  glint 
ing  their  upper  branches  as  presage  of  the  coming 
sunset.  You  will  say,  perhaps,  that  copying  those 
trees  would  be  mechanical  and  not  art  work.  And 
yet,  to  copy  them  as  they  are,  to  catch  their  grace, 
their  form,  their  lines,  their  tints,  their  play  of  light 
and  shade,  their  hundred  vivid  characteristics,  could 
never  be  done  by  a  cold,  mechanical  mind.  To 


9o  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

paint  those  trees  the  artist  must  penetrate  them,  ap 
propriate  them,  master  them.  The  forces  within  him 
must  stir,  his  mind  must  awaken,  his  eye  be  full  of 
alertness,  his  soul  open  itself  to  their  unspeakable 
fascinations,  his  whole  being  glow  with  a  sense  of 
their  wonders.  And  I  tell  you  there  is  not  a  rock, 
a  tree,  a  branch,  a  flower,  a  hillside,  a  sweep  of 
wave,  a  play  of  light,  a  touch  of  color,  that,  if  re 
produced  with  all  its  expression  in  form  and  tint, 
would  not  delight  you.  The  painter  need  not  draw 
upon  his  imagination  by  an  atom.  The  thing  itself, 
if  it  is  the  whole,  true,  full  thing,  is  enough.  And 
observe,  all  cold  or  mechanical  copying  never  gets 
within  a  hundred  degrees  of  the  real  facts.  Do  you 
think  that  it  would  be  mere  mechanism,  mere  deft 
ness  of  hand,  to  draw  the  horse  in  the  meadow  be 
yond  us  ?  Mere  deftness  would  give  you  nothing 
more  than  a  wooden  horse.  It  takes  the  very  high 
est  skill  to  give  the  lines,  the  sense  of  power,  the 
truth  of  motion,  the  real  life  of  the  animal — and  it 
has  never  yet  been  done  by  any  one  whose  pencil 
was  not  guided  by  imaginative  force.  "  The  per 
ception  of  beauty  and  power  in  whatever  objects  or 
in  whatever  degree  they  subsist,"  says  Hazlitt,  "is 
the  test  of  real  genius."  So  you  see  there  is  imagi 
nation  in  art ;  not  the  imagination  that  certain  writ 
ers  mean,  not  the  dreaming  that  strives  for  the  light 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  REALISM  IN  ART.  91 

that  never  was  on  sea  or  land,  but  the  immense  force 
and  susceptibility  that  master  and  possess  the  light 
that  is  on  sea  and  land. 

Artist.  This  is  making  realism  a  branch  of  im 
agination,  facts  as  potent  as  poetry,  things  that  are 
as  exalted  as  things  that  we  dream. 

Bluff.  For  my  part,  I  haven't  the  slightest  objec 
tion  to  people  seeing  visions,  but  prefer  that  they 
should  begin  by  seeing  facts.  The  sculptor  who 
translates  all  the  thousand  expressions  that  exist  in 
the  human  figure  will  rival  the  Greek  Phidias ;  the 
landscapist  who  possesses  himself  with  all  the  facts 
of  nature  will  outdo  all  his  competitors.  I  point 
again  to  my  group  of  trees ;  who  will  come  and 
paint  them  ? — not  feebly  and  vaguely,  but  reproduce 
them  in  all  their  splendor.  Who  will  do  it?  You 
would  find  a  hundred  idealists  to  one  with  percep 
tions  and  hand  vigorous  enough  for  the  task.  Ideal 
ism  is  in  fact  the  cheapest  thing  in  the  world ;  so 
far  from  its  being  that  which  cultivated  people  only 
can  comprehend,  as  the  critics  are  constantly  assum 
ing,  it  is  distinctly  the  thing  that  the  crude,  untrained 
public  admire.  See  the  wide  fame  of  Dore.  Here 
is  an  artist  that,  in  black-and-white  at  least,  meets  all 
the  theoretical  requirements  of  your  school.  He  has 
immense  fecundity,  boundless  resources,  and  affluent 
imagination ;  he  is  utterly  regardless  of  nature  or 


92 


BACHELOR  BLUFF. 


truth,  securing  his  effects  by  the  most  audacious  ex 
aggeration — and  yet,  while  the  public  delight  in  his 
work,  it  is  quite  the  fashion  among  artists  and  crit 
ics  to  sneer  at  it.  His  exuberant  imagination  leads 
him  to  extravagance,  to  theatrical  sensation,  to 
strained  and  untruthful  delineations,  to  endless  vio 
lence  to  the  simplicity  and  truth  of  nature.  And 
these  things,  which,  if  your  set  is  right,  ought  to  be 
virtues,  are  things  which  the  better  informed  sum 
up  against  him  as  sins.  They  are  of  a  character, 
let  me  say,  which  in  the  constitution  of  the  human 
mind  are  sure  to  mark  all  affluent  and  over-teeming 
minds.  The  susceptible  and  uncritical  public  find 
pleasure  in  these  manifestations  of  power,  but  acute 
and  cultured  people  prefer  the  modest  beauty  of 
nature.  Then  there  is  Bouguereau.  It  has  become 
quite  the  fashion  recently  to  sneer  at  this  painter 
because  his  flesh-tints  are  so  smooth,  so  merely 
pretty  and  refined,  so  devoid  of  robust  vigor  and 
vivid  truth.  Obviously  these  fault-finders  are  all 
wrong.  It  is  not  truth  that  is  wanted.  Bouguereau's 
imagination  is  on  the  side  of  sweet  tints,  of  ideal 
grace  and  delicacy ;  he  paints  nude  figures  through 
a  haze  of  tender  beauty.  What  right  have  any  of 
us  to  complain,  however  lacking  in  virile  force  his 
work  may  be  ?  Great  artists  are  not  realists,  say 
the  critics — they  do  not  paint,  says  Hamerton,  what 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  REALISM  AY  ART.  93 

is  but  what  is  not.  Hence,  in  Bouguereau's  paint 
ings,  we  must  accept  the  artist's  conception  of  flesh, 
not  flesh  as  we  know  it  and  see  it. 

Artist.  Every  truly  great  painter  paints  nature 
not  as  it  is,  but  as  it  enters  his  imagination.  Art 
ceases  to  be  art  by  becoming  imitation. 

Bluff.  This  word  imitation  is  very  confusing  and 
misleading.  If  by  imitation  is  meant  deceptive  imita 
tion — the  painting  of  objects  with  such  servile  fidel 
ity  as  to  deceive  one  into  the  belief  that  he  is  looking 
upon  real  things — the  thing  is  paltry  enough.  But 
I  do  not  use  the  word  imitation.  Drawing  the  out 
lines  of  a  tree,  according  to  Ruskin,  is  not  imitating  a 
tree,  but  giving  the  form  of  a  tree.  The  question  is 
between  nature  sweetened  and  idealized,  as  a  man 
may  sleepily  dream  it,  or  nature  seized  upon  with  all 
the  force  and  spring  of  the  mind,  so  as  to  make  it 
captivatingly  faithful.  Now,  one  who  paints  nature 
as  he  sees  it  paints  it  as  it  is  so  far  as  he  can  real 
ize  it ;  if  he  does  not  see  it  as  it  is,  his  vision  is 
abnormal,  and  assuredly  this  unfits  him  for  the  voca 
tion.  If  he  consciously  paints  it  as  it  is  not,  paint 
ing  it  neither  as  it  is  nor  as  he  sees  it,  what  have 
we,  then,  but  an  artist  substituting  a  fancy,  a  no 
tion,  a  perverse  and  intentional  fallacy,  for  the  veri 
ties  of  creation  ?  Such  notions  might  in  some  in 
stances  be  good,  but  have  they  any  just  reason  for 


$1  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

their  bong,  and  could  they  be  more  glorious  than 
great  Nature?  And  then,  just  as  sure  as  we  admit 
the  principle  that  am  artist  may  paint  his  own  con 
ceptions  as  nature,  we  shall  open  the  door  for  every 
conceivable  oaliumii  of  vanity,  foolishness,  and  gro 
tesque  fancy — such  as  would  soon  cast  art  into  a 
ri:  ::'  i-V-t-  i-i  ctlirlun. 

Artist.  A  majutity  of  painters  see  only  the  sur 
face  of  things ;  they  depict  the  beauty  of  the  external 
wodd  excliisirely,  being  whoQy  insensible  to  the  soul 
of  nature,  which  it  is  Ac  true  province  of  genius  to 

.*"  — ""  "  "  "      2-  ~    L      ~~  T  "2,  *"•—-- 

Bbtf.  Yes ;  of  course  if  there  are  painters  who 
are  spnt<siifcfn  of  the  external  aspects  of  nature 
only,  and  others  who  are  prophets  of  its  internal 
spirit,  then  die  latter  must  obviously  be  much  great 
er  artists.  But  what  is  this  internal  spirit  ?  How  is 
it  separated  from  outside  phenomena?  What  are 
the  special  qualities  not  revealed  in  surfaces  that 
certain  gifted  tnf«  diyff^f*"  and  express  ?  Let  us 
see  if  we  c3*1  penetrate  beneath  t^y*  surface  of  this 
theory.  When  any  one  is  contemplating  a  scene  in 
nature,  he  is  impressed  by  the  variety  and  beauty 
of  /orx,  by  the  infinite  gradations  and  felicitous  con 
trasts  of  o&r,  by  the  vivid  effects  of  light  and  x&*£- 
09P,  by  the  rich  dinerences  of  texture.,  by  the  meflow- 
of  the  atmosphere,  by  a  sense  of 


2JR.  BLUFF  OX  REALISM  AV  ART. 


95 


expansion  that  comes  from  space.  These  are  die 
things  that  every  artist  studies  and  endeavors  to  re 
produce;  and  the  success  of  die  painter  in  each 
case  will  depend  upon  his  skin  in  mastering  rela 
tively  all  the  different  conditions  presented  to  him. 
If  he  enters  too  minutely  into  every  detail,  his  pict 
ure,  by  the  multiplication  of  particulars,  win,  as  a 
whole,  lose  all  resemblance;  if  he  omits  those  par 
ticulars  that  are  necessary  to  make  up  the  sense  of 
the  whole,  his  picture  win  lack  truth  and  virility. 
The  artist  must  have  a  strong  capacity  for  seeing 
all  that  is  before  him,  and  an  artistic  perception  that 
enables  him  to  decide  rightly  die  separate  arcum- 
slanccs  that  he  must  either  reject  or  subordinate. 
If  he  is  of  a  cold,  dull  mind,  he  works  patiently  on, 
photographically  copying  what  he  sees;  if  he  is  of 
an  imaginative,  susceptible  nature,  he  sHres  s^Kfnt 
beauties,  he  gives  full  value  to  an  effect  here,  he  sup 
presses  one  there,  he  throws  into  the  composition  ideas 
drawn  from  former  experiences.  But  what  possible 
thing  can  he  put  on  his  canvas  that  is  not  a  "  report 
of  surfaces"?  He  begins  with  form;  no  man  can 
invent  lines  or  combinations  of  fines  that  are  not  in 
nature,  and  they  have  no  possible  characteristics 
that  are  not  external.  He  proceeds  to  color,  and  is 
here  so  bewildered  and  embarrassed  by  the  richness 
of  nature,  the  exquisite  gradations  that  no  skill 


96  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

master,  the  overwhelming  loveliness  of  tints  that  his 
pigments  can  only  hint  at,  that  he  is  in  despair — 
but  color,  nevertheless,  is  a  thing  of  surfaces.  He 
next  struggles  with  texture.  How  can  he  suggest 
the  tooth  of  the  rock,  the  edge  of  the  bark,  the 
porcelain  of  the  rose,  is  his  problem — and  texture  is 
the  very  crust  of  things,  beyond  which  it  is  not  his 
mission  to  penetrate.  Light  and  shade,  and  atmos 
phere,  are  simply  external  things  that  modify  other 
external  things,  that  either  soften  or  make  con 
trasts,  define  or  blend  lines,  articulate  foregrounds 
or  mellow  distances.  If  after  form,  color,  texture, 
light  and  shade,  atmosphere,  and  space — all  being 
external  aspects  —  there  are  other  conditions,  what 
are  they  ?  How  is  the  "  soul  of  things  "  expressed 
otherwise  than  by  obvious  phenomena  ?  If  a  thing 
is  not  obvious,  how  is  it  detected  ?  Are  there  spir 
itual  landscapes  similar  to  the  alleged  spiritual  pho 
tographs  ?  Is  the  soul  of  things  a  ghost  that  proph 
ets  or  seers  only  can  behold  ?  In  the  group  of  trees 
we  have  been  studying  there  is  marvelous  beauty  : 
remove  light  and  shade,  and  the  picture  becomes 
dull ;  extinguish  color,  and  its  charm  has  almost 
gone  ;  obliterate  interlacing  lines,  and  it  is  charac 
terless  ;  but  it  seems  there  is  a  soul  left.  Well,  this 
soul  must  be  the  sort  of  divinity  that  we  see  in  a 
telegraph-pole  or  a  wood-pile !  No ;  it  is  certain 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  REALISM  IN  ART.  97 

that  there  is  no  internal  soul  of  things  separable 
from  the  aspects  of  things ;  the  difference  we  find 
in  the  works  of  painters  is  not  an  imaginary  line 
of  this  character — it  is  the  difference  of  power,  the 
difference  between  one  who  sees  and  comprehends 
vigorously  and  one  who  feebly  or  only  half  sees,  the 
difference  between  susceptibility  and  unsusceptibility. 
Instead  of  a  painter  inventing  a  nature  of  his  own, 
trying  to  see  things  in  lights  and  under  aspects  dif 
ferent  from  the  way  other  people  see  them,  his  real 
mission  is  to  passionately  study  nature,  to  penetrate 
it,  to  take  possession  of  it,  to  enter  into  its  subtil- 
ties,  to  master  its  mysteries,  to  see  it  with  the  heart 
and  soul  as  well  as  with  the  eye,  in  order  that  he 
may  reproduce  it  intense,  powerful,  virile,  glorious  ! 

Artist.  The  conflict  between  imaginative  art  and 
realistic  art  is  not  likely  to  be  soon  settled,  and 
each  man  judges,  doubtless,  as  he  feels.  But  we 
started  with  the  purpose  of  defining  art,  and  have 
drifted  greatly.  Can  we  find  a  definition  that  is 
likely  to  be  generally  acceptable  ? 

Bluff.  The  definition  should  be  broad  enough  to 
cover  the  whole,  or  nearly  the  whole  field,  and  that 
includes  indispensable  elements.  How  would  it  do 
to  say  that  art  is  form,  or  form  and  color  so  combined 
or  expressed  as  to  awaken  sensations  of  pleastire  ? 

Artist.  I  do  not  think  this  will  do.  Vulgar  form 
5 


9 8  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

or  color  may,  for  instance,  awaken  sensations  of 
pleasure  in  vulgar  minds,  and  very  good  form  or 
color  fails  to  impress  stupid  and  insensible  minds. 

Bluff.  I  am  well  aware  that  it  is  not  a  perfect 
or  complete  definition,  such  a  definition  as  would 
enable  one  always,  by  applying  it,  to  determine 
whether  any  given  performance  is  art  or  not.  It 
would  be  impossible,  moreover,  to  define  art  so  as 
to  enlighten  vulgar  or  stupid  minds.  But  it  is  a 
definition  that  covers  a  tolerably  wide  range  of  con 
ditions,  and  it  is  one  which,  if  accepted,  would  stop 
a  good  deal  of  current  nonsense — the  nonsense  that 
sets  up  a  set  of  narrow  dogmas  and  aims  to  turn 
out  of  the  pale  everybody's  ideas  and  performances 
that  do  not  coincide  with  them.  It  permits  the 
ideal  and  includes  the  graphic  ;  it  recognizes  pretty 
nearly  the  whole  range  of  work  usually  characterized 
as  art. 

Artist.  Have  you  not  said  that  art  deals  with 
awe,  sympathy,  turbulence,  passion,  and  death  ? 

Bluff.  These  may  be  its  themes ;  but  form  and 
color  are  the  media  through  which  these  things  are 
expressed,  and  determine  the  art-character  of  the 
work — sometimes  too  much  so,  for  the  conception 
of  an  event  is  often  overlooked  by  artists  in  consid 
ering  exclusively  the  technical  treatment.  However, 
if  you  do  not  like  my  definition,  frame  a  better  one. 


VII. 


MR.    BLUFF    DISCOURSES    OF    THE    COUN 
TRY   AND    KINDRED   THEMES. 

(In  a  Country  Lane,) 

BACHELOR  BLUFF. 
A  LISTENER. 

"  THE   country,"  exclaimed   Mr.   Bluff,  with 

an  air  of  candor  and  impartiality,  "is,  I  admit,  a 
very  necessary  and  sometimes  a  very  charming  place. 
I  thank  Heaven  for  the  country  when  I  eat  my  first 
green  peas,  when  the  lettuce  is  crisp,  when  the  po 
tatoes  are  delicate  and  mealy,  when  the  well-fed 
poultry  comes  to  town,  when  the  ruddy  peach  and 
the  purple  grape  salute  me  at  the  fruit-stands.  I 
love  the  country  when  I  think  of  a  mountain  ram 
ble  ;  when  I  am  disposed  to  wander  with  rod  and 
reel  along  the  forest-shadowed  brook ;  when  the 
apple-orchards  are  in  blossom;  when  the  hills  blaze 
with  autumn  foliage.  But  I  protest  against  the  dog 
matism  of  rural  people,  who  claim  all  the  cardinal 


loo  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

and  all  the  remaining  virtues  for  their  rose-beds  and 
cabbage-patches.  The  town,  sir,  bestows  felicities 
higher  in  character  than  the  country  does ;  for  men 
and  women,  and  the  works  of  men  and  women,  are 
always  worthier  our  love  and  concern  than  the  rocks 
and  the  hills.  Contact  with  mind,  with  imagination, 
with  fancy,  with  ideas  and  aspirations  and  discus 
sions,  with  men  of  wit  and  purpose  and  intellect 
ual  life,  is  worth  to  the  mind  and  to  character 
more  than  dumb  Nature  at  her  best  can  bestow. 
That  is  the  best-fortified  soul  which  has  experienced 
the  fullness  of  town  and  the  sweetness  of  country 
life  ;  but  nothing  can  be  more  absurd  than  the  airs 
of  superior  moral  and  mental  status  which  suburban 
folk  so  often  assume.  Life  must  be  largely  enriched 
with  those  experiences  that  pertain  to  a  metropolis 
before  one  can  be  fully  capable  of  enjoying  the 
charms  of  rural  retirement.  Men  must  have  the 
ceaseless  friction  of  mankind  in  order  to  live  ripely 
and  develop  fully.  There  have  been  great  men  and 
lovable  men  who  have  proclaimed  their  preference 
for  these  paved  concourses  of  men.  No  man  can 
justly  accuse  me  of  trivial  tastes  with  the  example 
of  old  Dr.  Johnson  before  him;  and  who  would  not 
have  rather  walked  down  Fleet  Street  with  the  hon 
est  old  Ursa  Major  than  sit  droning  and  dozing 
for  a  decade  under  a  vine  and  fig-tree  ?  And 


MR.  BLUFF  DISCOURSES  OF  THE    COUNTRY.   iOi 

heroic  Charles  Lamb  !  Who  may  not  love  the 
shop  -  windows,  the  chop  -  houses,  the  theatres,  the 
book-stalls,  the  town-sights  of  all  sorts,  when  the 
noble  Elia  has  wandered  through  and  among  them, 
drawing  the  happiest  images,  the  most  playful  hu 
mor,  the  rarest  fancy,  the  sweetest  sentiments  from 
them  ?  After  Charles  Lamb  all  men  may  rise  up 
and  bless  the  streets  !  And  then  have  we  not  also 
delightful  Leigh  Hunt  and  witty  Douglas  Jerrold  in 
the  ranks  of  the  town's  defenders  ?  And  then  there 
are  Dickens  and  Thackeray.  If  ever  spirits  haunted 
the  places  they  loved,  these  devoted  chroniclers  of 
town-life  hover  above  and  mingle  amid  the  crowds 
it  was  once  their  delight  to  study  and  depict.  You 
may  be  sure,  sir,  that  insensibility  to  the  active  and 
stirring  aspects  of  the  town  arises  from  dullness  of 
imagination.  All  the  brighter  and  more  impressible 
spirits  have  almost  invariably  preferred  the  contact 
of  men  to  the  solitude  of  Nature;  and  this  prefer 
ence  will  continue,  you  may  be  certain,  so  long  as 
people  delight  in  the  refinements  of  society  and  the 
fruits  of  civilization. 

"  Oh,    yes !    I    have    heard    before    of    the 

pleasures  of  the  garden.  Poets  have  sung,  enthu 
siasts  have  written,  and  old  men  have  dreamed  of 
them  since  History  began  her  chronicles.  But  have 


i?2  FACHELOK  PLCFF. 

the  fains  of  the  garden  ever  been  dwelt  upon  ? 
11.. YC  people,  now,  been  entirely  honest  in  what 
they  have  said  and  written  on  this  theme  ?  When 
enthusiasts  have  told  us  of  their  prize  pears,  their 
early  peas  of  supernatural  tenderness,  their  aspara 
gus,  and  their  roses,  and  their  strawberries,  have 
they  not  hidden  a  good  deal  about  their  worm- 
eaten  plums — about  their  cherries  that  were  carried 
off  by  armies  of  burglarious  birds;  about  their  po 
tatoes  that  proved  watery  and  unpalatable ;  about 
their  melons  that  fell  victims  to  their  neighbors' 
fowls;  about  their  peaches  that  succumbed  to  the 
unexpected  raid  of  Jack  Frost;  about  their  grapes 
that  fell  under  the  blight  of  mildew ;  about  their 
green  com  that  withered  in  the  hill  ;  about  the 
mighty  host  of  failures  that,  if  all  were  told,  would 
tower  in  high  proportion  above  the  few  much- 
blazoned  successes  ? 

"  Who  is  it  that  says  a  garden  is  a  standing 
source  of  pleasure?  Amend  this,  I  say,  by  assert 
ing  that  a  garden  is  a  standing  source  of  discom 
fort  and  vexation.  There  is  always  something  in 
the  garden  to  be  done  or  planned,  always  some 
thing  to  be  reconstructed  or  readjusted.  The  car 
penter  is  in  perpetual  demand  with  the  man  who 
has  a  garden.  So  is  the  mason.  So  is  the  florist 
So  is  the  laborer.  So  is  the  machinist.  A  man 


MR.  BLUFF  DISCOURSES  OF  THE   COUNTRY.   1-3 

with  a  garden  is  always  trying  to  accomplish  the 
impracticable.  He  is  always  planning  how  he  can 
unite  a  maximum  of  sunshine  with  a  maximum  of 
shade ;  how  he  can  keep  his  trees,  and  yet  open 
distant  prospects;  how  he  can  enlarge  his  stables 
without  abridging  his  grounds  ;  how  he  can  shut 
out  an  ugly  view  in  one  direction  and  reveal  a 
pretty  one  in  another ;  how  he  can  expand  his 
vegetable-beds,  and  yet  keep  them  hidden  behind 
his  flower-parterres ;  how  he  can  curve  and  lengthen 
a  path  in  order  to  make  his  estate  appear  larger, 
or  straighten  it,  so  as  to  add  to  his  convenience; 
how  he  can  best  keep  his  paths  in  order ;  what 
should  be  done  to  improve  the  appearance  of  his 
lawn;  how  he  can  save  his  shrubs  that  are  threat 
ened  with  decay;  how  he  can  rescue  his  fruit-trees 
from  the  insects;  how  he  can  keep  off  the  mosqui 
toes  and  prevent  the  ague !  His  devices,  and  his 
designs,  and  his  experiments,  are  legion.  A  hope 
less  restlessness,  according  to  my  observation,  takes 
possession  of  every  amateur  gardener.  Discontent 
abides  in  his  soul.  There  is,  indeed,  so  much  to 
be  done,  changed,  rearranged,  watched,  nursed,  that 
the  amateur  gardener  is  really  entitled  to  praise  and 
generous  congratulations  when  one  of  his  thousand 
schemes  comes  to  fruition.  We  ought  in  pity  to 
rejoice  with  him  over  his  big  Lawton  blackberries, 


104  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

and  say  nothing  of  the  cherries,  and  the  pears,  and 
the  peaches,  that  once  were  budding  hopes,  but 
have  gone  the  way  of  Moore's  'dear  gazelle.'  Then 
the  large  expenditures  which  were  needed  to  bring 
about  his  triumph  of  the  Lawtons.  *  Those  pota 
toes,'  said  an  enthusiastic  amateur  gardener  to  me 
once,  '  cost  twenty-five  cents  apiece  !  '  And  they 
were  very  good  potatoes,  too — almost  equal  to  those 
that  could  be  bought  in  market  at  a  dollar  a  bushel. 
"  And  then,  amateur  gardeners  are  feverishly  ad 
dicted  to  early  rising.  Men  with  gardens  are  like 
those  hard  drinkers  whose  susceptibilities  are  hope 
lessly  blunted.  Who  but  a  man  diverted  from  the 
paths  of  honest  feeling  and  natural  enjoyment,  pos 
sessed  of  a  demoniac  mania,  lost  to  the  peace  and 
serenity  of  the  virtuous  and  the  blessed,  could  find 
pleasure  amid  the  damps,  and  dews,  and  chills,  and 
raw-edgedness  of  a  garden  in  the  early  morning, 
absolutely  find  pleasure  in  saturated  trousers,  in 
shoes  swathed  in  moisture,  in  skies  that  are  gray 
and  gloomy,  in  flowers  that  are,  as  Mantalini  would 
put  it,  '  demnition  moist '  ?  The  thing  is  incredi 
ble  !  Now,  a  garden,  after  the  sun  has  dried  the 
paths,  warmed  the  air,  absorbed  the  dew,  is  admis 
sible.  But  a  possession  that  compels  an  early  turn 
ing  out  into  fogs  and  discomforts  deserves  for  this 
fact  alone  the  anathema  of  all  rational  beings. 


MR.  BLUFF  DISCOURSES  OF  THE   COUNTRY.   105 

"I  really  believe,  sir,  that  the  literature  of  the 
garden,  so  abundant  everywhere,  is  written  in  the 
interest  of  suburban  land-owners.  The  inviting  one 
sided  picture  so  persistently  held  up  is  only  a  covert 
bit  of  advertising,  intended  to  seduce  away  happy 
cockneys  of  the  town  —  men  supremely  contented 
with  their  attics,  their  promenades  in  Fifth  Avenue, 
their  visits  to  Central  Park,  where  all  is  arranged 
for  them  without  their  labor  or  concern,  their  even 
ings  at  the  music  gardens,  their  soft  morning  slum 
bers  which  know  no  dreadful  chills  and  dews  ! 
How  could  a  back-ache  over  the  pea-bed  compen 
sate  for  these  felicities?  How  could  sour  cherries, 
or  half-ripe  strawberries,  or  wet  rose-buds,  even  if 
they  do  come  from  one's  own  garden,  reward  him 
for  the  loss  of  the  ease  and  the  serene  conscience 
of  one  who  sings  merrily  in  the  streets,  and  cares 
not  whether  worms  burrow,  whether  suns  burn, 
whether  birds  steal,  whether  winds  overturn,  whether 
droughts  destroy,  whether  floods  drown,  whether 
gardens  flourish,  or  not  ? 

"  Yesterday  I  read  an  article  in  '  Black- 
wood  '  on  '  Weather,'  in  which  the  writer,  who  seems 
to  admire  almost  everything  in  Nature,  makes  an 
assault  on  fog.  Yes,  sir,  fog.  He  denounces  it  as 
stagnant,  sulky,  and  silent ;  as  hopelessly  objection- 


106  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

able,  ugly,  useless,  stupid,  and  dirty.  Now,  sir,  it  is 
simply  amazing  how  a  writer,  who  delights  '  in  richly- 
endowed  but  widely  wayward  Nature,'  should  utter 
this  wholly  wrongful  judgment  upon  one  of  *  the 
family  of  weather '  that  to  the  observant  eye  has, 
not  less  than  its  kindred,  its  strange  surprises,  its 
picturesque  aspects,  its  manifold  beauties.  Fog  may 
be  dirty  in  the  cities  when  mixed  with  and  stained 
by  smoke,  and  at  times  it  is  undoubtedly  stagnant, 
if  not  stupid;  but  one  who  has  watched  the  move 
ments  of  fog,  who  has  seen  the  endless  number  of 
dissolving  views  it  forms,  who  has  noted  the  striking 
and  picturesque  ways  in  which  artists  use  it,  must 
resent  the  unhandsome  epithets  of  our  *  Blackwood  ' 
writer.  Have  you  ever  passed  a  summer  vacation 
on  the  seashore,  and,  stretching  yourself  upon  a 
headland  of  the  shore,  watched  the  vagaries  and 
fantastic  sports  of  the  soft,  subtile,  and  undulating 
fog ;  how  it  now  comes  rolling  in  from  the  sea  with 
swift  and  steady  course,  first  obscuring  the  horizon, 
then  swallowing  up  sail  after  sail  ;  next  seizing 
upon  jutting  points  of  land,  sweeping  along  the  sides 
of  the  cliffs,  until  suddenly  it  takes  possession  of 
and  blots  out  the  whole  surface  of  sea  and  land  ? 
Then  presently  you  see  a  blue  space  overhead ;  all 
at  once  a  shadowy  sail  looms  through  the  mist  ; 
the  fog  lifts  and  shows  a  stretch  of  calm  sea;  then 


MR.  BLUFF  DISCOURSES  OF  THE  COUNTRY. 


107 


as  suddenly  again,  as  if  some  prompter  regulated 
the  rise  and  fall  of  this  strange  curtain,  down  falls 
the  drapery  of  mist,  and  everything  is  hidden  ! 
These  shiftings  and  changes  make  striking  pictures, 
believe  me.  At  one  moment  a  sail  suddenly  ap 
pears,  without  a  hull,  dark,  shadowy,  and  mystic  in 
its  body,  but  with  its  upper  line  catching  the  sun 
light  and  glittering  white  like  the  wing  of  some 
huge  bird  of  the  sea;  in  an  instant  more  the  fog 
has  seized  upon  the  sail,  and  enveloped  it  wholly, 
but  the  mantle  is  lifted  beneath  so  as  to  reveal  the 
dark  form  of  the  hull.  If  there  are  points  of  wooded 
headland  jutting  into  the  sea,  you  look  and  see 
them  wholly  obscured,  but  even  while  you  look  a 
long  line  of  trees  appears  above  a  mass  of  drifting 
mist,  looking  like  forests  hung  in  the  heavens.  I 
once  watched  pictures  like  these,  forming  and  dis 
solving  continually,  and  hence,  I  say,  that  he  must 
be  strangely  ignorant  of  the  mystic  sprite  called  fog 
who  heaps  upon  it  such  epithets  as  I  have  quoted. 
There  is  no  better  scenic  artist  on  sea  or  land,  sir, 
than  the  fog  on  a  summer  day  when  the  winds  un 
steadily  come  and  go. 

"  The   picturesque !     We   talk   a   good   deal 

about  the  picturesque,  but  how  many  of  us  under 
stand  what  it  is  ?  No,  sir ;  we  like  to  boast  of  our 


108  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

mountains,  our  cascades,  our  lakes,  our  forests,  our 
rivers  ;  every  summer  the  avenues  of  travel  are 
crowded  with  throngs  of  pilgrims  in  search  of  what 
they  call  the  picturesque;  and  yet,  if  there  were  any 
true  natural  sense  of  the  picturesque,  it  would  be 
sure  to  be  exhibited  in  the  houses  we  build.  Look 
at  the  villas,  mansions,  cottages,  what-not,  that  am 
bition  and  wealth  multiply  all  around  us,  and  see 
how  rarely  we  find  anything  picturesque,  or  even 
really  pleasing  to  an  artistic  eye.  The  big  villas 
and  pinchbeck  cottages  that  abound  in  our  suburbs 
completely  outrage  every  idea  of  the  picturesque; 
in  fact,  we  are  never  so  hopelessly  unpicturesque  as 
when  we  are  endeavoring  to  be  picturesque.  What 
people  really  like  is  prettiness.  They  want  orna 
mented  towers,  Mansard-roofs,  fresh  paint,  white 
walls,  showy  gardens,  and  strange  novelties  of  all 
kinds — caster-boxes,  pagodas,  gilt  cages,  Swiss  toys,  an 
interminable  range  of  fantastic  devices,  whose  names 
no  man  knoweth.  No  one  seems  to  have  an  idea 
of  building  a  house  that  will  look  as  if  it  grew  a 
part  of  the  landscape,  but  must  set  it  like  a  glitter 
ing  paste-jewel  on  a  soiled  finger,  an  abominable 
contrast  with  its  surroundings.  Then  see  how  cold 
and  uninhabitable  most  of  the  better  kind  of  coun 
try  places  seem  in  their  spotless  lawns,  their  shrub 
bery  trimmed  to  an  extreme  of  cold  propriety,  their 


MR.  BLUFF  DISCOURSES  OF   THE   COUNTRY. 


109 


dreary  gravel-walks,  their  distant  and  reserved  air, 
their  whole  atmosphere  of  restraint  and  human  emp 
tiness !  There  is  no  life,  no  soul,  no  heartiness,  no 
hospitality,  no  sense  of  comfort  or  felicity  in  those 
mausoleums,  in  which  are  buried  human  interests  and 
passions.  Many  a  humble  cottage  is  a  thousand 
times  more  inviting.  I  can  not  imagine  myself 
living  in  them  or  dreaming  in  them ;  of  finding  in 
them  life,  or  repose,  or  any  form  of  human  sweet 
ness.  When  you  build,  sir,  build  with  less  preten 
sion,  with  better  sense  of  mellow  contrasts  and 
quiet  tones;  let  nature  be  a  little  free,  and  art  a 
little  modest;  give  to  your  country  domicile  the  air 
of  a  rustic  lass,  coy  and  modest,  and  not  the  flash 
and  cold  disdain  of  a  town  belle. 

"  I  wonder  many  times  whether  Nature  feels 

any  delight  in  man;  whether  it  is  insensible  to  the 
human  affections  offered  to  it.  When  the  sea  has 
all  the  winter  months  beat  its  dull,  sad  refrain 
upon  the  beach,  does  it  not  curl  its  white  locks 
in  graceful  and  joyous  anticipation  when  it  knows 
that  youth  and  beauty  are  soon  again  to  resume 
their  places  on  the  sands?  Does  it  not  feel  long 
ing  in  its  winter  loneliness  for  the  merriment  of 
the  summer  sea -bathers?  Can  it  not  delight  in 
the  laughing  girls  and  handsome  boys  that  come 


110  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

down  to  sport  in  its  old  arms  ?  Have  the  woods 
no  kindly  sympathy  with  our  pleasure  in  their  si 
lent  shades  ?  Can  not  the  mountains  feel  a  glow 
ing  pride  in  our  admiration  for  their  stately  maj 
esty  ?  We  can  at  least  imagine  the  mountains 
and  the  woods  and  the  sea  waiting  with  earnest 
welcome  for  us,  in  the  great  largeness  of  their  an 
tique  soul  opening  wide  their  bosom  to  the  pulse  of 
human  feeling.  This  notion,  you  see,  simply  trans 
fers  to  Nature  something  of  the  old  Greek  person 
ality  ;  it  makes  Pan  live  again  ;  it  restores  the  Dry 
ads  to  the  woods  and  the  Naiads  to  the  waters. 

"  The   beauty  of  every  scene,  my  good   sir, 

depends  on  the  altitude  of  the  sun  and  the  angle 
of  light.  What  is  a  mountain  at  high  noon  but  a 
lumpish,  dead,  meaningless  mass  ?  But  see  the  same 
mountain  later  in  the  day,  with  the  sun  behind  it, 
and  you  have  a  magnificent  picture.  It  stands  in 
superb  purple  against  a  sky  radiant  with  gold  and 
yellow,  like  a  crowned  monarch  at  a  pageant.  But 
it  does  not  need  a  mountain  to  make  a  picture ; 
sky  and  sunshine  and  air  will  do  it  for  us  any 
where.  There  was  a  time,  and  that  only  recently, 
when  artists  went  forth  hunting  for  scenes  to  paint 
— they  searched  for  the  weird,  the  terrible,  the  gro 
tesque,  the  strange,  the  remote,  the  picturesque,  the 


MR.  BLUFF  DISCOURSES  OF  THE   COUNTRY,   m 

imposing,  the  unfamiliar,  and  all  the  while  left  con 
summate  pictures  at  their  very  doors !  Our  later 
painters  have  found  this  out ;  they  take  a  plain,  a 
meadow  with  a  stunted  tree,  a  stretch  of  sand  and 
sea,  a  clump  of  trees,  any  simple  scene,  and  paint 
the  light  that  falls  upon  it,  the  sky  that  overarches 
it,  the  atmosphere  that  fills  it,  and  the  picture  stands 
a  thing  of  beauty.  Light  and  air,  which  are  every 
where,  are  everything.  I  remember  once  standing 
just  at  sunset  on  the  northern  shore  of  Long  Island 
Sound.  The  sun  was  behind  me,  with  all  the  east 
ern  sky  glowing  with  the  reflected  light  of  the  west 
ern  pageant,  which  was  hid  from  me  by  a  stretch 
of  forest-trees.  There  was  no  wind,  and  the  wide 
expanse  of  the  Sound,  as  smooth,  polished,  and  placid 
as  a  mirror,  caught  on  its  surface  an  exquisite  pink 
tint  from  the  sky  above  it.  On  this  pink  sea  there 
were  several  becalmed  vessels,  whose  sails  stood 
yellow  against  the  sky,  with  the  hulls  in  shadow, 
like  masses  of  dark  bronze — all  being  perfectly  re 
flected  in  the  glassy  surface  upon  which  they  hung 
suspended.  Well,  sir,  it  was  a  picture  that  an  artist 
like  Gifford  would  have  delighted  to  paint,  and  yet 
it  was  but  a  momentary  effect  of  light.  One  need 
not  leave  the  town  even  to  see  these  phantasmago 
ria  of  the  heavens.  Who  has  ever  painted  the  light 
of  the  setting  sun  on  the  house-tops,  on  gables,  and 


U2  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

chimneys,  and  dormer-windows  ?  I  have  seen  it, 
sir,  make  our  commonplace  brick  walls  look  like  the 
domes  and  pinnacles  of  a  celestial  city.  There  are 
rare  bits  of  scene-painting  of  this  kind  in  town,  if 
you  only  know  how  to  look  for  them. 

"  Pleasure,  you  say  !      Pleasure-seeking,  sir, 

commonly  ends  in  more  pain  than  delight.  Our  fe 
licities  are  coy  and  wayward  ;  they  come  we  know 
not  whence,  we  can  never  be  sure  how,  but  often, 
when  most  desired  or  most  vigorously  sought  for, 
they  fail  to  respond,  and  quite  as  often,  when  least 
anticipated,  they  fill  us  with  their  glory.  Pleasure 
can  not  be  successfully  prearranged.  Too  many  con 
ditions  are  necessary.  One  may  sometimes  secure 
everything  but  the  disposition  to  enjoy,  or  he  may 
find  that  the  very  fact  of  deliberately  determining 
to  be  happy  is  of  itself  sufficient  to  destroy  all  pos 
sibility  of  happiness.  Then  many  forms  of  pleasure 
are  a  violent  assault  upon  happiness.  People  seem  to 
think  that  felicity  is  garrisoned  in  a  citadel,  and  that 
due  energy  will  be  sure  to  conquer  and  secure  the 
prize.  Pleasure  is  in  truth  a  jack-o'-lantern  that  we 
pursue  only  to  see  it  escape  us  ;  or  it  is  a  frail,  deli 
cate  blossom,  invisible  in  the  gay  parterre  set  out 
ostentatiously  in  its  name,  but  appearing  sometimes 
suddenly  at  our  very  feet  in  the  ordinary  highway 


MR.  BLUFF  DISCOURSES  OF  THE   COUNTRY.  113 

where  we  looked  for  weeds  only ;  or,  again,  it  is  a 
little  spirited  cherub  that  avoids  the  glare  of  noisy 
shows,  and  all  form  of  loud  pretension,  but  in  quiet 
hours  slips  into  our  heart  and  sets  it  beating  with 
strange  ecstasy.  Premeditated  pleasure,  sir,  is  as  im 
possible  as  premeditated  wit.  One  can  not  sit  down 
and  say,  *  I  will  make  a  jest  ' ;  he  can  not  rise  up 
and  say,  *  I  will  go  and  find  pleasure.'  Every  sum 
mer  we  see  all  our  towns,  all  our  summer  resorts,  all 
our  hotels,  all  our  highways,  full  of  violent  seekers 
after  pleasure.  Men  are  hurrying  for  it  to  the  sea 
shore,  pursuing  it  up  the  mountains,  angling  for  it 
in  the  lakes,  dancing  for  it  at  the  watering-places, 
sailing  for  it  on  the  rivers,  rushing  for  it  on  the 
railways,  fatiguing  themselves  almost  to  death  for  it 
everywhere — and  yet  rarely  finding  it.  He  is  the 
happiest  who  knows  how  to  extract  pleasure  from 
the  thousand  little  things  that  lie  in  his  daily  path — 
from  the  sunshine  and  the  rain,  from  the  grass  and 
the  trees,  from  flowers  and  books,  from  old  friends 
and  new  faces,  from  crowds  and  from  solitude ;  who 
knows  how  to  note  the  shifting  panorama  of  life  that 
ceaselessly  offers  him  change  and  contemplation,  and 
does  not  imagine  that  pleasure  must  be  sought  with 
drum  and  trumpet  and  boisterous  expectation. 

"  Does    any   one    ever   sit   down   when   the 


114  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

summer  is  over  and  compare  his  two  expeditions  to 
the  country — yes,  sir,  his  two  expeditions — one  the 
trip  that  he  expected  to  take,  and  the  other  the 
trip  that  he  really  did  take  ?  We  all  of  us  generally 
lay  out  in  advance,  on  these  occasions,  a  very  hope 
ful  and  attractive  programme ;  and  we  are  apt  to 
end  with  a  performance  in  which  a  good  many 
changes  have  to  be  made.  For  weeks  beforehand 
we  furbish  up  our  fishing-rods;  we  clean  the  fowl 
ing-piece  ;  we  put  ourselves  in  order  in  various 
ways  for  the  long  tramp,  the  sail,  the  ride,  the  pic 
nic,  the  angling  excursion ;  and  we  say  to  ourselves 
that  our  pleasure  shall  not  be  abridged  by  the  want 
of  forethought  or  the  need  of  preparation.  And  yet 
how  differently  matters  turn  out  !  The  picnic  to 
the  seashore  would  have  been  a  great  success  had 
not  the  roads  been  so  unendurably  hot  and  dusty  ; 
the  tide,  by  a  miscalculation  of  somebody,  so  low ; 
and  threatening  showers  made  an  early  rush  home 
ward  so  necessary.  The  long-planned  yachting  ex 
cursion,  in  which  fine  winds,  careening  sails,  ex 
hilarating  life  in  the  swiftly-coursing  yacht,  were  so 
eagerly  prepictured,  must  of  course  fall  on  a  day 
when  a  dead  calm  rendered  motion  almost  impos 
sible.  The  sails  clung  to  the  mast,  the  vessel  drifted 
a  little  with  the  tide,  and  the  long,  dull  hours  were 
spent  wistfully  hoping  for  a  breeze.  And  then  how 


MR.  BLUFF  DISCOURSES  OF  THE   COUNTRY.  115 

delightful  the  angling  was  going  to  be !  One  saw 
himself  wandering  along  picturesque  little  rivers, 
under  arching  trees,  and  by  little,  charming  cas 
cades.  He  fancied  himself  casting  the  fly  into  the 
silent,  shaded  pool,  and  saw  the  splendid  dash  with 
which  some  veteran  of  the  brook  darted  at  the  skill 
fully-dropped  bait.  He  pictured  the  splendid  and 
well-managed  battle  with  the  fish,  and  imagined  it 
triumphantly  landed.  He  saw  himself,  after  a  su 
perb  day's  sport,  wending  homeward  with  his  bas 
ket,  bending  under  the  weight  of  his  day's  victo 
ries.  But  always  that  tremendous  difference  between 
calculation  and  realization !  The  picturesque  little 
stream  proved  to  be  half  dried  up  ;  the  cascades 
were  only  threads  of  water;  the  trees  let  in  the  hot 
and  scorching  sun ;  in  the  dark  pools  no  trout  rose 
to  the  fly;  and  the  journey  homeward  was  with  an 
empty  basket,  a  hungry  stomach,  jaded  limbs,  and 
muttered  maledictions  on  fly-fishing  generally.  One's 
other  attempts  at  pleasure-making  also  exhibited  a 
difference  between  anticipation  and  performance. 
The  mountain  scenery  was  not  so  fine  and  exhila 
rating  as  was  expected.  The  watering-places  were 
either  half  attended  and  dull,  or  overcrowded  and 
uncomfortable.  All  stay-at-homes,  those  who  take 
only  one  trip  to  the  country,  and  that  the  imagi 
nary  one,  may  console  themselves  that  they  have  no 


ll6  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

disappointments  of  the  kind  to  mourn  over.  There 
are  always  compensations,  you  see,  if  we  have  the 
wisdom  to  discover  them. 

"  How  intolerably  hot  it  is  !     There  is  need, 

sir,  of  an  entire  change  in  our  notions  of  summer. 
This  season  has,  in  all  ages,  and  probably  among  all 
peoples,  been  the  popular  type  of  felicity.  Not  only 
has  poetry  in  a  thousand  ways  dwelt  upon  its  charms 
and  sung  of  its  beauties,  but  proverbs  have  epito 
mized  its  delights,  and  it  has  served  to  symbolize 
other  forms  of  peace,  happiness,  and  fruition.  We 
count  youth  and  beauty  by  summers ;  peevish  and 
wrinkled  old  age  by  winters.  Our  discontents,  our 
harsher  passions,  our  evil  fortunes,  are  often  graph 
ically  paralleled  by  the  rude  aspects  of  December 
and  January,  while  our  contents  and  all  our  felici 
ties  are  continually  symbolized  in  the  soft  condi 
tions  of  summer.  Now,  sir,  this  exaltation  of  the 
summer  solstice  has  much  more  justification  in  tra 
dition  than  in  experience.  When  the  world  was 
young,  no  doubt,  the  summer  season  was  justly  en 
titled  to  all  the  appreciation  it  enjoyed  —  all  the 
bountiful  praise  and  admiration  now  bestowed  upon 
it  by  poets.  Then,  art  did  not  know  how  to  miti 
gate  the  severities  of  winter,  and  civilization  sup 
plied  no  resources  for  enjoyment  in  the  long,  sun- 


MR.  BLUFF  DISCOURSES  OF  THE   COUNTRY.   117 

less  hours.  Then,  with  summer  came  abundance, 
while  winter  was  always  associated  with  stint  and 
deprivation.  Fruits,  that  art  could  not  preserve, 
were  enjoyed  only  during  the  brief  period  in  which 
they  ripened.  The  harvest  brought  its  plenty,  but 
human  ingenuity  had  not  devised  methods  for  ex 
tending  it  throughout  the  year.  Consequently,  in 
primitive  conditions  the  summer  meant  fruition  and 
beneficence  far  more  significantly  than  it  does  now. 
The  abundance  which  we  enjoy  could  not  exist,  it 
is  true,  if  the  summer  suns  did  not  do  their  work ; 
but  the  enjoyment  of  summer  plenty  is  not  now 
essentially  identified  with  the  season,  as  it  was  in 
early  and  rude  periods  of  civilization.  So  there  is 
implanted  in  our  hereditary  instincts,  treasured  up 
in  our  traditions,  imbedded  in  our  language,  a  vast 
deal  of  matter  pertaining  to  summer  which  needs 
in  these  latter  times  to  be  revised.  Civilization, 
which  has  deprived  winter  of  all  its  terrors,  and 
which  has  even  converted  some  of  its  harshest  feat 
ures  into  means  of  enjoyment,  has  not  succeeded  at 
all  with  the  discomforts  of  summer;  so  that,  if  we 
were  governed  less  by  tradition  and  more  by  actual 
experience,  we  would  be  disposed  to  look  upon 
summer  as  a  period  necessary  to  be  endured,  in 
order  that  harvests  may  ripen,  rather  than  as  one 
within  itself  essentially  felicitous.  The  heats  of  sum- 


118  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

mer  suns  prostrate  us.  The  dust  borne  upon  sum 
mer  airs  suffocates  us.  The  fevers  bred  by  summer 
poisons  sicken  us.  In  fact,  excessive  heat  causes  an 
aggregate  of  suffering  which  cold  can  not  parallel. 
The  stirring  winds  of  winter  invigorate  rather  than 
destroy;  or,  if  they  prove  too  harsh  and  severe,  our 
warm  houses  and  our  abundant  clothing  give  us 
ample  protection.  Ordinarily  the  air  of  winter  gives 
us  strength  and  spirit,  and  the  energy  that  succumbs 
entirely  to  the  torrid  suns  of  July  will  be  aroused 
to  a  martial  glow  in  a  manly  encounter  with  the 
December  gale.  I  doubt  even  if  the  destitute  suffer 
more  in  winter  than  in  summer.  Nothing  seems  so 
terrible  as  those  streets  of  New  York  occupied  by 
tenement-houses  on  hot  summer  days ;  I  have  visited 
them  in  the  different  seasons,  and  the  inmates  really 
appear  to  suffer  more  in  July  from  heat,  want  of 
fresh  air,  insects,  and  sickness,  than  in  winter  from 
cold  and  exposure.  If  people  would  be  hon'est  they 
would  confess  that  they  endure  the  summer  rather 
than  enjoy  it.  Those  who  remain  in  our  cities 
pant  and  stifle,  and  long  for  the  return  of  winter; 
those  who,  in  the  name  of  pleasure,  go  in  search  of 
boasted  summer  delights,  are  scorched  on  mountain- 
tops,  choked  in  dust-filled  cars  and  stage-coaches, 
burned  on  exposed  seacoasts,  and  assaulted  every 
where  by  mosquitoes  and  other  insects.  Art  has 


MR.  BLUFF  DISCOURSES  OF  THE   COUNTRY.   119 

mitigated,  sir,  and  civilization  conquered,  all  other 
seasons  but  summer;  and  it  is  quite  time  that  poe 
try  and  the  common  sentimental  utterance  of  the 
country  were  animated  by  facts  as  they  are,  and 
not  by  traditions  founded  on  conditions  of  things 
long  past. 


VIII. 


MR.   BLUFF   ON   THE   PRIVILEGES   OF 
WOMEN. 

(On  the  Promenaded) 

BACHELOR  BLUFF, 
A  LADY. 

"  The  right  of  women  to   intellectual  activity  ! 

In  the  name  of  reason,  madam,  who  has  denied  the 
right  of  women  to  intellectual  activity  ?  There  are 
no  laws  and  no  restrictions,  legal,  moral,  or  social, 
that  restrain  women's  intellectual  activity.  They 
may,  at  their  pleasure — limited,  of  course,  by  their 
natural  capacity — become  philosophers,  poets,  novel 
ists,  historians,  essayists,  journalists,  scientists,  nat 
uralists,  inventors,  painters,  sculptors,  musicians,  sing 
ers,  composers,  lecturers,  actors ;  they  may  become 
famous  as  thinkers,  distinguished  as  conversationalists, 
and  renowned  for  learning.  Books  are  open  to 
them,  Nature  is  open  to  them  ;  in  society  they  are 
absolute  queens.  They  may  acquire  all  the  wisdom 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  THE  PRIVILEGES  OF  WOMEN.  121 

of  the  ancients  and  the  moderns  ;  they  may  search 
out  the  mysteries  of  life  and  Nature  ;  they  may  give 
to  social  intercourse  an  intellectual  elevation  it  has 
hitherto  never  known. 

"  If  they  had  the  opportunity  !      Madam,  this 

is  the  ceaseless  cry,  but  women  absolutely  have  more 
opportunity  than  men.  Not  so  many  of  them  have 
the  advantage  of  college  education,  it  is  true,  but 
the  greatest  achievements  in  philosophy,  science,  in 
vention,  art,  and  literature,  have  been  made  by  men 
who  never  saw  the  inside  of  a  college.  Men  of 
strong  purpose  create  opportunity  for  themselves — 
create  it  while  weaker  minds  are  lamenting  the  ob 
stacles  that  lie  in  their  way.  As  for  relative  oppor 
tunity  between  the  sexes,  nearly  all  men  are  con 
demned  either  to  business  or  the  professions,  and 
from  an  early  age  all  their  energies  are  thus  bent 
in  one  enforced  direction,  while  many  women — not 
all,  of  course  —  have  exceptional  freedom  in  the 
choice  of  their  studies  and  pursuits.  All  the  preva 
lent  fuss  and  fret  pertaining  to  this  question  comes, 
madam,  from  those  women  who  are  wholly  without 
intellectual  activity,  but  who  are  burned  up  with 
diseased  vanity,  and  imagine  that  there  are  royal 
roads  to  distinction  which  the  men  enjoy  and  the 
other  sex  are  debarred  from. 
6 


122  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

"  Women  can  not  be  lawyers,  judges^  or  states 
men  !  No,  madam,  they  can  not  yet.  But  no  one 
who  comprehends  the  subject  would  dream  of  call 
ing  exclusions  of  this  character  a  limitation  of  in 
tellectual  activity.  Law,  medicine,  and  politics,  which 
these  restless  women  hunger  for,  are  really  the  last 
pursuits  that  one  with  genuine  '  intellectual  activity ' 
would  think  of  following.  The  irksome  and  exact 
ing  duties  of  these  professions  keep  the  individual 
on  a  tread-mill ;  they  prevent  study,  they  narrow  the 
line  of  thought,,  they  render  almost  impossible  that 
altitude  of  pure  intellectuality  which  the  suppressed 
female  genius  of  the  land  thirsts  for.  Business,  as  I 
have  said,  so  generally  imposed  upon  men  in  Amer 
ica,  to  the  great  injury  of  their  higher  faculties, 
is  not  imposed  upon  women,  and  hence  many  of 
the  '  subjugated  sex,'  as  they  are  called,  have  an 
immensely  better  opportunity  for  study  and  intellect 
ual  progress  than  men  —  such  superior  opportunity, 
indeed,  that  women,  judging  by  this  fact  alone, 
ought  to  occupy  the  foremost  place  in  all  the  higher 
intellectual  fields  of  thought  and  effort.  Literature, 
madam,  has  given  us  Jane  Austen,  Miss  Edgeworth, 
Agnes  Strickland,  Mrs.  Hemans,  Charlotte  Bronte, 
Mrs.  Somerville,  George  Eliot,  George  Sand,  Mrs. 
Oliphant,  Jean  Ingelow,  Mrs.  Stowe,  and  a  host  of 
other  admirable  female  writers ;  in  art,  there  have 


MR.  BLUFF  OX  THE  PRIVILEGES  OF  WOMEX.  123 

been  Angelica  Kaufrnann,  Rosa  Bonheur,  and  recent 
ly  a  whole  array  of  capable  women-workers ;  Sid- 
dons,  O'Neil,  Ellen  Tree,  Rachel,  Ristori,  Cushman, 
have  adorned  the  dramatic  art ;  Malibran,  Sontag, 
Jenny  Lind,  Alboni,  Patti,  Nilsson,  and  many  others, 
have  been  a  charm  on  the  lyric  stage ;  in  truth,  the 
intellectual  and  art  branches  of  human  effort  fairly 
glitter  with  the  names  of  women  whose  'intellectual 
activity '  quietly  sought  out  the  fields  for  which  their 
genius  fitted  them,  and  in  those  fields  speedily  ac 
quired  *  name  and  fame.'  It  is,  therefore,  entirely 
obvious  that  women  may  be  as  intellectual  as  their 
capabilities  will  permit,  without  their  mingling  with 
the  wrangles  of  the  legislative  chamber,  usurping 
the  places  of  the  judges  on  the  bench,  or  devoting 
themselves  to  the  high  art  of  the  suffrage.  But  let 
me  say  that,  while  women  are  clamoring  for  greater 
liberty  in  their  intellectual  activities,  men  at  the 
same  time  are  bitterly  complaining  of  the  indifference 
of  women  to  all  subjects  of  political,  scientific,  or 
practical  concern.  If  in  our  social  intercourse  we 
found  women  abounding  with  intellectual  force,  ex 
hausting  the  opportunities  at  their  command,  over 
flowing  the  bounds  that  restrict  them  with  their 
surplus  energy,  we  might  well  then  be  eager  to  make 
room  for  them  in  the  courts,  or  at  Washington,  and 
elsewhere  ;  but,  as  society  stands,  it  is  obvious  enough 


124  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

that  women  can  find  plenty  of  things  at  hand  for 
the  exercise  of  their  '  intellectual  activities '  without 
our  remaking  the  laws  of  Nature  or  upheaving  the 
foundations  of  society. 

"  Would  2  give  woman  education  ?  Madam, 

true  education  was  never  given  to  any  one ;  people 
are  never  taught;  they  only  learn.  The  education 
that  a  person  possesses  depends  upon  his  capacity 
for  taking  possession  of  ideas  and  facts,  his  power 
of  appropriation,  his  faculty  for  fusing  crude  ore 
and  making  it  fine  metal.  Things  that  are  taught 
pass  through  the  mind  as  water  runs  through  a  bas 
ket  ;  things  that  a  man  of  his  own  force  learns  be 
come  part  of  himself.  Do  not  imagine  for  a  mo 
ment  that  academies  and  colleges  simply  of  them 
selves  make  education  possible ;  it  has  been  shrewd 
ly  said  that  a  man  can  be  a  fool  in  seven  languages. 
Education  is  possible  only  where  there  is  an  active, 
absorbing,  analyzing,  searching  mind — and  this  mind 
always  becomes  learned  wherever  it  is.  Read  the 
lives  of  those  wonderful  self-taught  Scotch  natural 
ists  and  geologists,  Edward  and  Dick,  and  never 
say  a  word  more  about  woman's  deficiency  of  op 
portunity. 

"  And  let  it  not,  madam,  be  perpetually  assumed 
that  education  simply  means  the  acquisition  of  learn- 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  THE  PRIVILEGES  OF  WOMEN.  125 

ing,  or  the  mastery  of  a  mass  of  facts.  It  is  not  so 
much  mere  culture  that  is  required  for  women  as 
character  —  that  sort  of  training  that  gives  to  the 
mind  largeness,  health,  repose,  and  solidity  of  under 
standing.  We  have  all  met  highly  cultivated  women 
who  have  been  unstable  of  character  and  weak  in 
judgment ;  brilliant,  but  vain,  frivolous,  and  irrational 
creatures ;  and  very  unfortunate  for  the  world  would 
it  be  if  women  of  this  type  were  to  be  substituted 
for  the  women  of  the  people,  who,  often  unlearned  in 
books,  have  yet  in  the  great  school  of  life  acquired 
fortitude,  strength,  sobriety,  and  earnestness.  The 
highest  attribute  of  woman,  after  virtue  and  modesty, 
is  character.  If  we  could  so  educate  our  women 
that  the  nobler  conditions  of  their  nature  would  ex 
pand  —  if  they  could  acquire  in  schools  profound 
sincerity  of  feeling,  large  judgment,  intellectual  dis 
cernment  and  balance,  we  might  well  be  indifferent 
to  the  exact  extent  of  their  purely  literary  acquisi 
tions.  There  is,  of  course,  no  reason  why  learning 
and  high  culture  should  not  only  accompany  these 
virtues,  but  really  enforce  and  strengthen  them ;  un 
less,  indeed,  they  do  so,  their  real  value  is  open  to 
dispute ;  but  do  not  all  the  facts  around  us  show 
that  a  fairly  superstitious  reverence  prevails  as  to 
the  saving  grace  of  mere  knowledge — of  familiarity 
with  books  and  a  taste  for  art  ?  Education  seems  to 


126  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

mean  with  many  a  mere  cataloguing  of  facts.  The 
man  or  woman  who  has  studied  at  college  or  from 
a  printed  page  is  supposed  to  be  entitled  to  higher 
credit  than  one  who  has  acquired  his  facts  at  first 
hand — by  the  study  of  nature  or  the  observation  of 
men  ;  and  one  who  has  a  smattering  of  all  the  arts 
is  assumed  to  stand  on  a  higher  plane  than  another 
who  has  learned  wisdom  by  the  right  use  of  judg 
ment.  First  of  all,  madam,  let  education,  physical 
and  mental,  make  our  girls  large  -  natured  women 
— women  robust  in  physique  and  robust  in  mind, 
charged  with  high  sentiment,  capable  of  giving  to 
the  world  men  formed  after  their  own  noble  mold  ; 
and  then  the  refinements  of  culture  would  come  as 
graceful  embroidery  to  the  substantial  fiber. 

"Are  not  men  and  women  equal1}     The  sum  of 

two  different  things  may  be  equal,  but  unlike  things, 
madam,  are  never  alike,  despite  all  the  female  phi 
losophers  in  the  universe ;  and  the  unlikeness  be 
tween  men  and  women  established  by  Nature  can 
never  be  abolished  by  conventions,  platforms,  or  stat 
utes.  Every  race,  every  nation,  every  period,  every 
community,  every  class,  every  profession,  has  its  dis 
tinctive  characteristics,  and  hence  it  is  tolerably  cer 
tain  that  each  sex  has  its  specific  qualities.  Now, 
one  quality  of  the  masculine  intellect  is  the  power 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  THE  PRIVILEGES  OF  WOME.V.  127 

of  abstraction.  It  has  the  faculty  of  dealing  with 
things  upon  the  pure  basis  of  abstract  fact.  But  the 
female  intellect  deals  with  things  in  relation  to  per 
sons  only.  Its  approach  to  analysis  is  always  through 
its  sympathies ;  and  this  peculiarity  of  woman's  con 
stitution  is  indisputably  radical,  inasmuch  as  it 
springs  from  her  instincts  of  maternity.  To  say  that 
a  nature  charged  through  and  through  with  the  great 
divinity  of  motherhood  has  mental  likeness  to  a  sex 
unmoved  by  this  great  power,  is  to  abolish  all  condi 
tions  of  distinction,  and  to  form  conclusions  regard 
less  of  testimony  to  the  contrary.  The  whole  range 
of  woman's  nature,  madam,  is  toned  and  colored  by 
this  one  supreme  fact  of  her  composition.  It  limits 
her  range  of  speculation  by  concentrating  her  power 
of  affection ;  it  withdraws  her  sympathies  from  what 
is  remote  to  what  is  personal  and  near  ;  it  establishes 
a  relation  with  things  of  the  world  almost  exclusive 
ly  through  her  affections.  What  she  is  not  inspired 
to  love,  she  has  no  inspiration  to  heed.  Within  her 
pulse  beats  the  pulse  of  mankind.  All  the  facts 
and  speculations  in  the  world  become  subordinated 
to  the  powerful  longings  and  sympathies  this  great 
link  with  the  race  establishes.  Hence  the  essential 
necessity  for  mental  activity  in  woman  is,  that  her 
development  should  be  through  her  affinities.  She 
can  not  be  abstract ;  she  must  be  personal.  In  lit- 


128  £ACffELOIt  BLUFF. 

tie  things  and  big  things  this  is  apparent.  Woman 
has  a  passion  for  novel-reading,  because  her  sympa 
thies  are  so  keen ;  and  she  makes  the  best  of  novel- 
writers,  because  she  feels  so  quickly  the  pulse  of 
passion.  The  very  gossip  that  a  woman  delights  in 
is  one  consequence  of  her  absorption  of  the  per 
sonality  of  people.  She  is  nothing,  except  in  con 
tact  with  her  kind.  She  likes  society  better  than 
men  do,  and  solitude  less.  She  lives  almost  solely 
in  her  relations  to  the  human  family.  All  this  being 
true,  it  is  evident  that  her  mental  culture  should 
have  its  own  distinct  aims.  It  is  not  necessary  for 
any  practical  end  that  it  should  be  the  same  as 
men's,  and  it  can  only  produce  good  fruit  by  being 
consonant  to  the  law  of  her  nature.  If  a  woman 
knew  no  Greek  nor  Latin,  no  mathematics  nor  phi 
losophy,  but  surrendered  her  imagination  to  the 
great  masters  of  literature;  if  poetry,  music,  and 
art,  filled  her  soul  with  their  mellowing  touches;  if 
the  forests  and  fields  revealed  their  secrets  of  beau 
ty  to  her;  if  her  mind  became  thus  enriched  with 
the  most  sympathetic  facts  in  literature  and  nature, 
we  should  discover  in  her  some  of  the  happiest  and 
most  edifying  aspects  of  culture.  As  men's  muscles 
do  the  severer  manual  labor,  let  their  brains  perform 
the  severer  mental  labor.  In  women  there  should  be 
that  development  which  gives  the  largest  grace  of 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  THE  PRIVILEGES  OF  WOME*.'.  129 

womanhood,  and  the  supremest  culture   in  the   arts 
that  humanize  and  adorn. 


"  Your  lives  are  '^apid  and  purposeless  !  Are  they 
to  be  rendered  purposeful  in  any  right  sense  by 
plunging  into  the  discords  of  life?  Need  they  be 
vapid  and  purposeless,  with  all  the  sciences  and  all 
literature  and  all  nature  before  you?  Make  an  ob 
ject  in  life,  by  all  means,  and  do  not  imagine  that 
this  is  only  possible  by  having  the  unattainable 
brought  to  your  door,  or  by  a  fiat  that  translates 
you  into  men  ;  for  we,  too,  are  full  of  similar  dis 
contents,  we,  too,  are  too  often  ignorant  of  the  art 
of  living — an  art,  madam,  that  consists  in  the  knowl 
edge  of  how  to  be  interested  in  the  things  that  lie 
in  our  daily  paths — in  the  art  of  seizing  and  appro 
priating  things,  of  putting  our  heart  and  intellect 
into  relation  with  the  facts  of  life  and  the  phenom 
ena  of  nature,  and  this  is  better  than  ambition,  or 
the  hurly-burly  of  life.  Ambition  is  an  appetite 
that  grows  upon  what  it  feeds.  Discontent  more 
often  eats  into  the  heart  of  the  successful  man  than 
into  that  of  the  humble  one.  Women  who  escape 
from  the  dominion  of  the  hearth-stone  into  the  broad 
field  of  struggle  and  triumph  are  not  going  there 
by  to  conquer  or  silence  their  spirit  of  unrest  — 
that 


130  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

'  .  .  .  fever  at  the  core, 
Fatal  to  him  who  bears,  to  all  who  ever  bore.' 


Those  who  fret  to-day  over  their  vapid  and  pur 
poseless  lives  may  come  in  some  future  day  to  fret 
over  their  successes,  longing  for  new  worlds  to  con 
quer.  Discontent  was  never  yet,  since  the  world 
began,  allayed  by  the  acquisitions  of  ambition.  Your 
remedy  lies  solely  in  intellectual  occupation  and  pur 
suits,  which  are  as  free  to  you,  as  I  have  already 
said,  as  to  men. 

"  And  let  me  say  that  the  best  gifts  in  the 
world  are  those  of  seeing  and  hearing.  A  great 
many  people  have  eyes,  but  very  few  have  eye 
sight.  A  great  many  have  senses  and  faculties,  but 
very  few  know  how  to  fully  employ  them.  Man  or 
woman  endowed  with  the  usual  gifts  of  sight,  and 
observation,  and  mental  force,  must  have  discovered 
some  effective  way  of  paralyzing  and  suppressing 
them,  if  he  or  she  travels  down  the  years  a  purpose 
less  life.  There  are  hundreds  of  things  around  the 
most  humble  and  circumscribed  life  that  are  capa 
ble  of  giving  it  purpose,  and  supplying  it  with  zest. 
The  book  of  Nature  is  open  to  woman,  with  her 
fine  susceptibilities  more  completely  so  than  to  men ; 
and  here  are  exhaustless  things  of  interest.  Every 
woman  may  become  so  much  of  an  artist,  at  least, 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  THE  PRIVILEGES  OF  WOMEN.  131 

as  to  learn  to  enjoy  form  and  color — enough  of  an 
artist  to  open  her  eyes  and  note  the  endless  charms 
which  a  devoted  and  intelligent  spirit  can  see  in 
the  woods,  the  rocks,  the  sea,  and  the  skies.  Every 
woman  may  become  enough  of  a  botanist,  entirely 
by  her  own  exertions,  to  find  a  hundred  significant 
facts  and  delights  in  the  plants  that  she  now  treads 
recklessly  under  her  feet.  Every  woman  may  be 
enough  of  a  geologist  or  a  naturalist  to  learn  from 
the  stones  pleasing  lessons,  and  to  find  in  animal 
life  endless  facts  of  the  profoundest  interest.  Now 
and  then  a  woman  may  make  a  discovery  in  one 
of  these  pursuits,  and  so  win  fame  ;  but  not  for 
fame,  not  for  what  the  world  may  say,  not  for  the 
gratification  of  vanity,  but  purely  for  the  sake  of 
themselves,  must  these  studies  be  pursued  if  they 
are  to  effectually  silence  the  spirit  of  unrest. 

"  Men     would    make    of    women     household 

drudges !  Madam,  what  fair  and  right-minded  men 
ask  of  women  is  that  they  should  fill  a  place  which 
has  certain  definite  boundaries,  but  one  not  less  in 
character  than  that  enjoyed  by  the  other  sex,  al 
though  differing  from  it.  It  would  be  a  great  thing 
for  the  happiness  of  mankind,  madam,  if  women 
could  form  adequately  that  necessary  complement 
to  the  other  sex  by  which  its  deficient  conditions 


132  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

would  be  supplied — giving  to  the  intercourse  of  two 
opposites  the  fullness  of  one  complete  existence  ; 
contrasting  against  the  struggle  and  warfare  of  man 
the  repose  and  meditative  calm  of  woman,  against 
the  harsh  and  rugged  aspects  of  competitive  em 
ployment  the  ripe  culture  and  aesthetic  taste  of  an 
imagination  permitted  to  expand  in  an  atmosphere 
housed  in  from  care  and  struggle.  One  may  some 
times  indulge  in  ideal  pictures  of  life ;  and  my  ideal 
of  men  and  women  in  their  associated  lives  depicts 
the  woman  full  of  large  and  serene  sympathy,  capa 
ble  of  thinking  upon  all  subjects  of  human  concern, 
but  as  specially  kindling  in  the  members  of  the 
household  an  appreciation  of  the  beautiful  in  all  its 
many  forms  of  art,  music,  poetry,  and  conduct.  Why, 
when  so  many  different  things  are  to  be  done  in 
the  world,  is  it  that  women  insist  upon  doing  those 
things  that  the  masculine  sex  can  do  so  much  bet 
ter,  and  avoiding  those  more  admirable  things  which 
women  only  can  do  well  ?  If  our  strong-minded 
pleaders  could  fully  understand  how  complete  and 
perfect  their  happiness  might  be  on  the  aesthetic 
and  imaginative  side  of  life,  they  would  scarcely 
seek  to  mingle  in  the  harsh  competitions  of  the 
world,  which  they  can  not  touch  without  losing 
those  characteristics  which  all  ages  and  all  peoples 
have  united  in  desiring  for  women — without  substi- 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  THE  PRIVILEGES  OF  WOMEN.  133 

tuting  acuteness  for  meditation,  sharpness  for  soft 
ness,  contention  for  calm,  noise  and  bustle  for  taste 
and  sympathy,  warfare  for  peace.  A  world  in  which 
all  the  women  simply  copied  and  echoed  all  the 
men,  in  which  a  man  found  in  the  wife  of  his 
bosom  a  rival  in  his  profession,  where  the  contest 
and  struggle  of  life  were  repeated  at  the  hearth 
stone,  would  prove  a  dreadful  weariness  to  the  body 
and  the  spirit.  The  millennium,  madam,  does  not 
lie  in  that  direction.  In  the  name  of  all  that  is 
desirable,  I  beg  certain  declaimers  to  try  and  un 
derstand  a  few  elementary  principles — to  realize  that 
everything  under  heaven  is  a  law  to  itself,  and  that 
nothing  whatsoever  can  successfully  fill  the  place  or 
live  the  life  of  any  other  distinct  thing.  The  felici 
ty  of  human  association  depends  upon  the  accept 
ance  of  just  this  principle — of  perceiving  the  relation 
of  parts,  the  division  of  duties  and  privileges,  and 
upon  recognizing  that  the  perfection  of  the  whole  is 
attainable  only  by  the  due  subordination  of  the  sev 
eral  parts.  The  world  will  get  along  much  better 
with  first-rate  men-men,  and  first-rate  women-women, 
than  by  confounding  the  qualities  of  the  two,  and 
giving  us  very  inferior  masculine  women  and  worth 
less  feminine  men. 

"  There  is  no  danger  that  women  will  be   unsexed 


134  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

by  enlarging  their  sphere  of  activity!  This  depends, 
madam,  upon  the  nature  of  the  enlargement  of 
this  sphere.  It  certainly  will  not  unsex  women  to 
enlarge  their  activity  in  study  ;  they  may  know  a 
great  deal  more  than  they  do  now  about  history, 
and  philosophy,  and  science,  and  literature,  and  art, 
without  any  loss  to  their  womanliness;  but  if  'en 
larging  their  sphere  of  activity'  means  making  poli 
ticians  of  them,  sending  them  to  Congress,  making 
lawyers  and  judges  of  them,  then  I  beg  to  say  that 
under  this  experience  they  would  most  decidedly 
become  unsexed.  Can  the  qualities  of  any  thing — 
of  any  human,  any  animal,  or  any  plant  even — re 
main  unchanged  with  all  its  environments  altered? 
It  is  impossible  in  nature  that  new  conditions  should 
not  cause  a  fresh  adaptation  and  adjustment.  If 
men  and  women  are  to  receive  the  same  education, 
attempt  the  same  professions,  experience  the  same 
contentions,  undergo  the  same  struggles,  be  trained 
in  the  same  facts,  and  crammed  with  the  same  ideas 
— to  be  in  all  their  contact  with  the  world  the  same 
entities,  as  it  were  —  it  is  simply  impossible  that  all 
the  distinction  of  feeling,  and  taste,  and  principle, 
that  now  exists,  should  remain  unchanged.  A  man 
may  not  care  whether  such  a  change  occurs  or  not, 
but  if  he  does  care,  if  he  thinks  that  a  man -woman 
is  not  an  estimable  or  an  agreeable  thing  for  the 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  THE  PRIVILEGES  OF  WOMEN.  135 

contemplation  of  gods  or  men,  then  let  him  have 
the  wit  to  see  that  the  womanliness  of  woman  can 
only  be  preserved  by  her  isolation  from  the  ruder 
phases  of  life,  by  that  feminine  culture  and  training 
under  which  her  tastes  and  her  faculties  are  rightly 
developed.  Let  us  have  robust,  stalwart,  hard- 
headed  men,  and  let  us  have  lovable  and  delightful 
women;  let  all  the  qualities  that  make  great  mascu 
line  natures  be  assiduously  cultivated,  and  all  the 
qualities  that  make  gentle  women  be  also  assidu 
ously  cultivated,  but  with  no  confusion  whatever  as 
to  their  characteristics,  duties,  and  tasks.  Those 
people  who  like  the  sexes  mixed  can  do  something 
toward  accomplishing  their  purpose,  but  they  will 
have  to  encounter  two  formidable  obstacles — nature 
being  one,  and  the  honest  instincts  of  the  great 
multitude  of  men  and  women  being  the  other. 

"  Men    are    afraid  of   learned  and  brilliant 

women !  Madam,  the  men  thus  charged  with  men 
tal  pusillanimity  in  regard  to  intellectual  women  are 
not  commonly  supposed  to  exhibit  a  similar  dread 
of  learned  and  accomplished  persons  of  their  own 
sex.  No  man  withholds  from  a  club  because  great 
men  belong  to  it.  No  man  is  afraid  of  a  career  at 
the  bar,  in  literature,  or  in  politics,  because  distin 
guished  persons  are  connected  with  those  profes- 


136  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

sions,  whom  it  will  probably  be  his  destiny  to  meet 
and  perhaps  professionally  to  encounter.  Men,  if 
anything,  are  over-confident  in  all  intellectual  strug 
gles  with  their  fellows ;  self-respect,  or  pride,  or  con 
ceit — some  motive  either  worthy  or  unworthy — pre 
vents  them  from  acknowledging  inferiority,  even  if 
they  are  conscious  of  it.  It  can  not,  therefore,  be 
that  men  dislike  learned  women  because  they  are 
apprehensive  of  intellectual  fence.  People  are  usu 
ally  too  unconscious  of  defeat  in  all  encounters  of 
wit  to  dread  it  much.  Their  very  insensibility  to 
the  palpable  hits  and  the  verbal  triumphs  of  an  op 
ponent  give  them  no  fear  of  the  conversational 
arena.  The  dullness  or  the  indifference  of  men  in 
this  particular  is  alone,  madam,  sufficient  to  prevent 
them  from  disliking  ability  in  women;  and  then 
every  man  is  so  profoundly  assured  of  the  intellect 
ual  inferiority  of  your  sex  that,  in  the  abundance 
of  his  confidence,  he  has  no  doubt.  Clever  men 
know  that  the  most  brilliant  women  are  always  vul 
nerable  in  argument,  and  stupid  men  talk  on  with 
out  ever  knowing  they  are  defeated. 

"  Why,  then,  is  conspicuous  ability  disliked  in  wom 
en  ?  Are  you  not  assuming  your  ground  ?  Is  it 
certain  that  men  are  offended  at  the  evidence  of 
talent  in  your  sex?  Yet  in  a  certain  form  it  must 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  THE  PRIVILEGES  OF  WOMEN. 


137 


be  conceded  they  are.  Every  man  imagines  women 
of  genius  in  whom  he  could  find  delight ;  but,  what 
ever  learned  women  may  say  or  think  about  the 
matter,  the  first,  the  second,  and  the  third  essential 
quality  that  every  man  admires  in  his  mother  or 
seeks  for  in  a  wife  is  womanliness.  If  genius  and 
learning  can  enhance  this  supreme  grace,  genius  and 
learning  will  be  admired  in  women ;  but,  so  long  as 
it  is  believed  that  intellectual  force  extinguishes  or 
diminishes  delicacy,  gentleness,  and  sweetness,  men 
will  dread  its  manifestation  in  their  wives  and  daugh 
ters.  Frivolity  and  insipidity,  which  men  are  ac 
cused  of  liking  in  women,  are  simply  accepted  with 
forbearance  when  they  are  accompanied  by  those 
charms  of  sex  that  make  women  delightful,  and 
which  compensate  for  so  many  shortcomings.  Judg 
ment,  taste,  discretion,  vivacity — all  good  qualities 
of  sound  minds,  are  excellent  things ;  but  even  these 
in  women  must  be  fused  into  a  harmonious,  mellow, 
unobtrusive  unity.  Delicacy  of  apprehension,  quick 
ness  of  perception,  capacity  of  appreciation — these 
supreme  womanly  qualities  of  mind  every  man  of 
taste,  I  assure  you,  delights  in;  but  loud  argument, 
boisterous  assertion,  clamorous  talk,  these  things  men 
do  most  decidedly  dread  in  women,  and  these  things 
have  too  commonly  marked  our  intellectual  Amazons. 
Do  not,  madam,  let  women  lay  the  flattering  unc- 


138  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

tion  to  their  souls  that  men  fear  their  mental  su 
periority;  let  them  rather  believe  that  there  is  gal 
lantry  enough  among  us  yet  even  to  delight  in  their 
victories  over  ourselves  ;  but  let  them  understand 
that,  so  long  as  man  inherits  the  nature  of  Adam, 
the  primal  delight  of  his  heart  will  be  in  fresh, 
fair,  and  gentle  women,  and  every  honest  man  will 
confess  that  he  does  fear  in  woman  whatever  may 
tend  to  rob  her  of  these  graces.  Perhaps  you  think 
all  this  very  commonplace.  Well,  so  I  fear  it  is — 
it  is  so  true  and  common  that  it  has  been  known 
since  the  world  began." 


IX. 

MR.   BLUFF   ON   MODERN   FICTION. 

(In   the  Library.) 

BACHELOR  BLUFF, 
A  CRITIC. 

Bluff.  There  is  no  greater  blunder,  sir,  than  to 
assume  that  stones  which  depict  the  throes  of  heated 
passion  or  the  perturbations  of  well-bred  lovers  in 
a  drawing-room  are  of  a  higher  intellectual  rank 
than  narratives  of  adventure  and  exploit. 

Critic.  How  can  you  say  this?  Assuredly  anal 
ysis  of  character  is  the  highest  and  most  subtile 
phase  of  the  novelist's  art. 

Bluff.  High  and  subtile,  I  grant,  but  it  has  not 
the  whole  field.  There  are  not  only  other  worthy 
things  than  the  study  of  emotions  and  motives,  but 
psychological  probing,  when  pushed  too  far,  is  apt 
to  become  a  great  bore,  and  not  unfrequently  stim 
ulates  an  unhealthful  and  morbid  passion  for  intro 
spection.  It  is  not  a  good  thing,  sir,  to  be  always 


I4c  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

looking  into  our  own  minds  or  into  the  minds  of 
our  neighbors.  The  subjective  novel  within  due 
limits  is  proper  enough  to  read  and  study,  but  when 
made  too  large  a  part  of  our  intellectual  food  the 
result  is  morally  and  mentally  hurtful.  The  breezy, 
out-of-door,  objective  novel  affords  an  excellent  coun 
ter-current  of  sensation,  and  for  this  reason  alone 
it  ought  to  be  sandwiched  between  the  highly  sea 
soned  preparations  of  the  subjective  school. 

Critic.  But  peculiarities  of  mind,  tendencies  of 
feeling,  and  operation  of  motive  are  necessary  to 
give  vitality  to  character.  Without  them  the  people 
of  a  story  would  not  seem  to  be  genuine,  and  con 
sequently  would  fail  to  awaken  the  reader's  sympa 
thies.  It  requires  the  highest  order  of  skill  to  depict 
character  truthfully  and  logically;  to  look  into  the 
minds  of  men  and  see  their  workings,  to  trace  the 
operations  of  cause  and  effect,  and  to  measure  accu 
rately  and  depict  authentically  the  reflex  actions  of 
temperament  and  emotion. 

Bluff.  No  doubt ;  and  it  requires  the  highest 
order  of  skill  to  be  a  great  surgeon,  but  what  have 
you  and  I  to  do  with  anatomy  ?  What  business 
have  healthful  minds  to  be  probing  among  the  dis 
eases  of  the  body  or  the  mind?  It  is  not  disease 
but  health  that  should  attract  healthful  men,  and 
those  works  of  art  that  depict  the  bright,  the  felici- 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  MODERN  FICTION.          14.1 

tous,  the  open,  the  robust,  are  the  most  useful  to 
mankind,  whether  the  skill  required  for  them  be 
more  or  less.  The  reasons  that  make  us  like  epic 
poems,  that  lead  us  to  admire  the  temples  and  stat 
ues  of  the  ancients,  that  give  to  form  and  color  so 
much  fascination,  are  the  elementary  foundations  of 
the  objective  novel.  If  it  is  a  fine  thing  to  be  sen 
sitive  to  the  beauties  of  nature,  it  must  be  a  fine 
thing  to  be  sensitive  to  pictures  of  life  that  are 
closely  related  to  those  open  aspects  of  the  world 
around  us;  and,  if  architecture  stands  high  in  the 
aesthetic  world,  if  color  in  painting  is  entitled  to 
our  admiration,  if  the  lines  of  sculpture  are  worthy 
of  our  study,  then  romances  which  deal  preeminently 
with  color  and  form  are  candidates  for  an  equal 
appreciation.  The  novel  of  action  is  an  epic  in 
prose;  the  novel  of  picturesque  situation  is  like  a 
stirring  painting  on  canvas ;  and  the  novel  that 
gives  us  heroes  and  heroines  of  ideal  grace  and 
beauty  awakens  in  us  some  of  the  same  sensations 
that  higher  sculpture  does.  The  arts  generally  deal 
with  the  objective,  appealing  exclusively  to  the 
senses  ;  and  it  is  therefore  certainly  not  a  feeble 
or  unworthy  thing  for  the  novelist  to  appeal  to  the 
same  sensibilities  that  painters  and  sculptors  do.  It 
is  only  by  realizing  the  really  high  place  in  art 
that  novels  of  description  and  action  may  occupy 


142  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

when  the  performance  is  equal  to  the  plan,  that  one 
is  prepared  to  form  a  just  estimate  of  romances 
like  Scott's  and  Cooper's. 

Critic.  But,  assuredly,  you  place  these  novels 
much  below  George  Eliot's  ? 

Bluff.  Do  I  place  Greek  literature  below  your 
modern  would-be  psychological  romance  ?  Do  I 
place  the  greatest  of  your  psychological  heroines  be 
low  Shakespeare's  Rosalind  or  Portia  ?  Is  the  Apol 
lo  Belvedere  a  lesser  work  of  art  than  George  Eliot's 
Gwendolen  ?  I  must  not  compare  things  so  dif 
ferent,  you  say,  but  comparisons  of  distinctly  differ 
ent  things  sometimes  bring  us  up  sharply  and  ena 
ble  us  to  see  where  we  are.  The  art  and  literature 
of  the  past  which  the  world  could  least  afford  to 
lose  are  almost  wholly  objective — works  that  deal 
with  the  external,  with  beauty,  action,  courage,  and 
force.  Shall  I  tell  you  what  I  consider  the  most 
perfect  figure  in  our  American  literature  ?  It  is 
young  Uncas,  in  Cooper's  "  Last  of  the  Mohicans." 
He  incarnates  the  three  special  qualities  of  the  hero 
— youth,  grace,  and  daring ;  and  neither  Hector,  nor 
Paris,  nor  Perseus  has  greater  fascinations  than  that 
strange  and  almost  mystic  figure  would  have  pos 
sessed  had  he  also  come  down  to  us  from  the  re 
mote  past.  As  a  product  of  Greek  imagination  he 
would  have  embodied  the  melancholy,  the  beauty, 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  MODERN  FICTION.          l^ 

and  the  spirit  of  the  woods,  just  as  the  German 
sprite  Undine  does  of  the  waters.  He  would  have 
figured  in  endless  statues  and  paintings,  and  have 
fired  the  fancy  of  innumerable  poets.  But,  born 
close  to  us,  being  our  very  own,  we  have  lacked  the 
faculty  of  seeing  in  him  the  exquisite  poetical  con 
ditions  that  three  thousand  years  ago  would  have 
made  him  immortal.  We  think  we  appreciate  the 
heroes  of  Greek  story  because  we  have  been  indus 
triously  instructed  how  to  admire  them,  but  we  have 
shown  an  utter  lack  of  ability  to  seize  for  ourselves 
upon  a  singularly  beautiful  figure  of  our  own  land 
and  time,  which  as  a  type  of  a  splendid  young  sav 
age  is  unique  and  artistically  perfect.  He  is  filled 
with  the  very  breath  of  poetry,  and  yet  neither  our 
painters,  our  poets,  nor  our  sculptors  have  dis 
covered  him.  It  may  some  day  be  thought  that  this 
Adonis  of  the  woods  is  as  worthy  of  attention  as 
diseased  studies  in  spiritual  anatomy,  and  we  may 
be  sure  that  our  tastes  will  not  be  healthful,  robust, 
strong,  or  sweet  until  this  time  comes  about. 

Critic.  I  am  really  astonished  at  your  selection 
of  this  figure  as  your  ideal  of  a  creation  in  art.  I 
should  certainly  have  expected  rather  a  selection 
from  Hawthorne,  if  an  American  author  must  be 
preferred. 

Bluff.  Oh!    I  read   Hawthorne  with  immense  in- 


144  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

terest,  but  can  you  believe  that  his  creations,  fasci 
nating  as  they  are,  can  possibly  influence  the  mind 
as  wholesomely  as  Cooper's  young  savage  ?  Health 
is  always  out-of-doors  ;  in  the  air,  and  the  breeze, 
with  open,  transparent  life.  All  the  world  is  con 
tinually  talking  about  the  philosophic  Hamlet,  and 
measuring  Shakespeare's  power  by  this  character  and 
his  Macbeth  and  Othello ;  but,  sir,  to  my  mind  that 
in  which  Shakespeare  conspicuously  asserts  his  su 
periority,  in  which  he  transcends  everything  else  in 
imaginative  literature,  is  his  female  characters — his 
Rosalind,  Portia,  Imogen,  Viola,  Miranda,  Beatrice, 
Juliet,  Isabella,  Desdemona,  Ophelia.  Here  we  have 
a  superb  and  wonderful  sisterhood  unmatched  any 
where,  and  fairly  unmatchable.  By  these  women 
Shakespeare  separates  himself  distinctly  from  every 
other  dramatist  and  novelist ;  nowhere  else  are  wit, 
vivacity,  beauty,  purity  of  feeling,  womanliness,  ele 
vation  of  character,  and  a  superb  poetic  gayety,  so 
admirably  and  exquisitely  blended  as  in  Rosalind, 
Portia,  and  Viola.  If  you  should  place  on  one  side 
all  the  other  creatures  of  the  imagination  in  Eng 
lish  literature  and  on  the  other  side  the  women  of 
Shakespeare,  and  force  me  to  choose  between  them, 
I  would  take  Rosalind  and  her  sisterhood,  and  let 
the  rest  go.  There  is  no  spiritual  anatomy  nor 
psychological  dissection  in  a  line  that  Shakespeare 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  MODERN  FICTION.          14.5 

wrote  about  them.  They  are  glorious  by  the  stand 
ard  of  the  most  perfect  art — because  they  penetrate 
with  delight,  because  they  elevate  the  imagination, 
because  they  charm  the  fancy,  because  they  excite 
the  profoundest  and  purest  pleasure. 

Critic.  Tell  me  what  you  consider  the  purpose 
of  fiction. 

Bluff.  The  current  notion  appears  to  be  that  the 
end  of  fiction  is  to  depict  the  mishaps  and  defeats 
of  life  with  realistic  fidelity.  The  heroes  and  hero 
ines  of  the  earlier  novel  underwent  innumerable 
tribulations,  but  always  in  the  end  overcame  adverse 
circumstances  as  well  as  enemies,  and  sat  down  in 
peace  with  their  hearts'  desires  accomplished.  This 
regulation  denotiment  is  now  unfashionable,  and  story- 
writers  absolutely  take  excessive  pains  to  make  their 
characters  permanently  unhappy.  A  marriage  in  the 
last  chapter  is  looked  upon  as  a  weak  concession  to 
a  conventional  and  inartistic  prejudice,  and  heroes 
and  heroines  are  consequently  made  for  the  express 
purpose  of  exemplifying  defeat,  and  showing  how  the 
best-laid  plans  may  come  to  grief.  It  seems  to  be 
the  accepted  method  to  select  characters  with  marked 
flaws  in  them,  in  order  to  indicate  how  "  the  rift  " 
will  "  by-and^by  make  the  music  mute."  This  wan 
ton  design  to  make  sadness  the  fashion  clearly  arises 
from  the  notion  that  art  should  consist  of  devices 
7 


146  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

for  showing  all  the  unhandsome  features  of  life,  all 
the  disagreeable  and  calamitous  possibilities  that  be 
set  mankind ;  and  he  is  thought  to  be  a  master-hand 
who  is  most  expert  in  multiplying  mischances,  and 
who  exhibits  the  greatest  ingenuity  in  bringing  right 
things  to  wrong  ends.  Now,  sir,  the  real  reason  for 
the  novel,  the  why  and  wherefore  that  men  and 
women  delight  in  the  fictitious  fortunes  of  other  men 
and  women,  is  because  something  is  given  which 
supplements  nature,  which  bestows  that  which  life 
too  often  denies.  Every  man  has  at  heart  a  pas 
sionate  love  for  what  I  will  call  the  symmetries  of 
fate — for  the  rewards  that  follow  earnest  and  honest 
endeavor,  and  the  justice  that  gives  us  finally  full 
compensation  for  all  that  we  endure.  Through  all 
the  calamities  and  mishaps  that  surround  us,  we  all 
of  us  dream  of  possibilities — of  the  good  that  will 
come  by-and-by  to  cheer  us ;  of  difficulties  assailed 
and  overcome,  of  enemies  put  down,  of  the  felicitous 
completion  of  our  schemes.  And  it  is  exactly  be 
cause  these  dreams  so  rarely  come  true  in  real  life, 
that  people  delight  in  those  inventions  called  novels, 
wherein  wrong  and  suffering  are  or  ought  to  be  suit 
ably  rectified.  When  mischance  pursues  us,  there  is 
a  delightful  compensation  in  following  the  career  of 
a  hero  who  overcomes  misfortunes,  and  wrests  things 
to  his  own  ends.  In  real  life,  bitterness  and  jeal- 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  MODERN  FICTION.          147 

ousy  may  be  felt  at  the  better  fortunes  of  other 
men  ;  but  in  the  novel  the  hero  is  our  very  self,  and 
all  his  achievements  and  successes  are  enjoyed  with 
almost  as  much  zest  as  if  they  were  our  very  own. 
The  very  foundation  of  fiction,  sir,  its  significance 
and  meaning  to  most  people,  lie  in  this  power  to 
reflect  each  reader  in  one  of  the  principal  person 
ages.  It  shows  us  what  we  would  like  to  do,  and 
what  we  know  we  feel.  The  young  lady  who  reads 
many  novels  has  many  lovers,  and  is  married  many 
times.  Your  psychological  novel  is  valuable  for  this 
reason  solely,  because  it  analyzes  successfully  our 
own  moods  and  emotions.  The  extent  to  which  one 
delights  in  the  novel  always  depends  upon  the  facil 
ity  with  which  he  can  transfer  himself  in  imagina 
tion  to  the  pages  he  is  reading.  If  fiction  did  not 
succeed  in  getting  us  out  of  ourselves,  in  creating 
worlds  more  delightful  than  the  world  we  experi 
ence,  in  fashioning  things  better  to  our  liking  than 
Fate  fashions  them,  it  is  certain  that  novels  would 
go  generally  unread.  The  true  function  of  the  novel 
is  here  apparent.  It  must  give  us  pictures  of  life 
with  a  great  core  of  sweetness,  enlarging  our  indi 
viduality  by  multiplying  our  experiences  and  delights 
— the  artistic  requirements  being  simply  that  the 
people  and  incidents  shall  be  possible  and  wholly 
thinkable.  The  writers  who  imagine  they  can  se- 


148  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

cure  sympathy  by  endowing  their  characters  with 
unheard-of  virtues,  or  showering  upon  them  impos 
sible  good  fortunes,  defeat  their  ends  ;  but  writers 
who,  in  disgust  at  these  excesses,  turn  around  and 
portray  characters  without  charm,  and  substitute 
calamities  for  blessings,  drift  altogether  away,  not 
only  from  popular  sympathy,  but  from  the  real  pur 
pose  of  the  novel.  Distinctly,  nobody  wants  novels 
that  reproduce  all  the  sufferings  and  struggles  of 
real  life  unless  supplemented  with  those  compensa 
tions  that  in  real  life  ought  to  follow,  but  rarely  do ; 
for  the  novel  is  nothing  more  than  a  device  for  set 
ting  the  disorders  of  life  right,  and  making  us  all 
happy  by  the  contemplation  of  final — and  so  often 
rightly  called  poetic — justice.  The  novel  that  does 
not  do  this  thing  may  entertain  a  good  many  people 
by  its  character-sketches  and  its  descriptions,  but,  in 
missing  the  fundamental  purpose  of  fiction,  must  fail 
to  command  the  sympathies  of  the  great  world  of 
readers. 

Critic.  The  rude  and  stirring  novels  of  Mesdames 
Holmes  and  Southworth,  that  have  such  a  hold  in 
certain  rural  sections,  must,  according  to  your  rule, 
be  the  very  best  of  novels  —  for  they  accomplish 
effectually  for  their  readers  all  that  you  set  down 
as  the  true  purpose  of  fiction. 

Bluff.  Would  they  have  their  multitude  of  read- 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  MODERN  FICTION.          14.9 

ers  if  they  did  not  do  this  very  thing?  I  dare  say 
they  have  endless  faults,  but  they  would  find  no 
readers  if  they  did  not  bring  home  to  people  some 
sweetness  and  pleasure.  The  only  difference  be 
tween  these  novels  and  better  ones  is,  that  the  lat 
ter  attempt  to  accomplish  the  same  end  with  truer 
pictures  of  life  and  a  higher  literary  quality — and 
often  lose  the  end,  let  me  say,  by  doing  so. 

Critic.  A  French  critic  declares  that  the  quality 
conspicuously  deficient  in  American  fiction  is  taste. 
Unfortunately,  this  defect  is  strikingly  characteristic 
in  the  works  of  the  more  popular  of  our  writers. 
The  American  story-tellers  who  cultivate  taste,  who 
exhibit  fastidiousness  and  artistic  finish,  are  com 
monly  without  large  constituencies  of  readers.  And 
yet,  singularly  enough,  English  novelists  of  the  first 
class  are  very  widely  read  in  America. 

Bluff.  Then  it  is  evident  that  native  authors  of 
superior  culture  are  not  neglected  because  they  aim 
too  high.  A  public  that  devours  tens  of  thousands 
of  a  novel  by  George  Eliot,  or  William  Black,  or 
Thomas  Hardy,  shows  its  capacity  to  rise  to  the 
level  of  the  most  fastidious  of  our  own  writers  of 
fiction.  The  difficulty  is,  that  our  own  authors  imagine 
that  fastidiousness  means  the  exclusion  of  sympathy 
and  passion.  Literary  folk  and  certain  people  who 
always  take  a  place  by  the  side  of  literary  leaders 


ISO 


BACHELOR  BLUFF. 


whether  they  understand  or  not,  have  great  admira 
tion  for  two  or  three  Boston  story-writers,  and  meas 
ure  other  people's  culture  by  their  estimate  of  those 
writers'  books.  They  are  very  good  books  indeed, 
very  noticeable  for  keen  insight  into  character  and  for 
refined  subtilty,  but  refinement  and  subtilty  are  never 
enough  of  themselves  to  command  a  wide  suffrage. 
The  mountain-stream  is  clear,  sparkling,  and  full  of 
beauty,  but  it  is  the  broad,  deep  sea  that  encom 
passes.  Of  pleasant  and  sparkling  literary  rivulets 
we  have  enough ;  we  all  long  for  the  majesty  and 
power  of  the  deep — for  books  that  shall  have  finish 
and  taste  without  losing  the  pulse  of  humanity,  that 
shall  stir  our  passions  and  our  sympathies  pro 
foundly  without  transcending  the  bounds  of  nature 
or  the  laws  of  art.  Our  better  writers  seem  to  be 
frightened  at  the  turbulence  of  actual  life  and  the 
passions  of  earnest  men  and  women ;  they  play  on 
the  verge  of  the  great  expanses  of  life,  dallying  with 
trifles,  analyzing  queer  specimens,  asking  us  to  ad 
mire  them  because  they  have  dissected  a  blade  of 
grass,  and  lamenting  because  the  world  casts  but 
a  half-glance  at  their  pretty  toys.  It  is  simply  im 
possible  that  these  writers  should  find  acceptance 
with  the  general  public.  There  are  English  novel 
ists  that  have  all  their  refinement  with  a  large  meas 
ure  of  real  power,  with  strong  sympathies,  with  deeper 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  MODERN  FICTION.          151 

currents  of  feeling,  and  these  writers  must  inevitably 
be  preferred  to  our  own  writers  so  long  as  the  lat 
ter  prefer  intellectual  legerdemain  to  earnest  pur 
pose,  and  are  content  to  address  their  tasteful  noth 
ings  to  each  other  and  their  little  parlor  circles 
rather  than  write  for  the  great  world  at  large. 

Critic.  In  asserting  that  the  purpose  of  fiction  is 
to  adjust  what  you  call  the  "  symmetry  of  fate," 
you  overlook  the  significant  fact  that  those  works 
of  imagination  which  have  a  tragical  termination 
have  always  had  a  deeper  and  more  lasting  hold 
upon  the  world  than  any  other.  And  the  same 
thing  exists  in  historic  passages.  Who  would  care 
for  the  story  of  Hero  and  Leander  had  those  young 
people's  love-adventure  ended  in  marriage  ?  It  is 
the  sad  fate  of  Juliet  and  Francesca  that  makes  their 
stories  so  well  remembered.  Beatrice  Cenci  would 
have  long  since  been  forgotten  had  her  career  ended 
happily.  It  is  the  dismal  fate  of  Mary  Queen  of 
Scots  that  makes  her  story  the  most  read  of  any 
queen  in  history.  When  Dickens  brought  Little  Nell 
to  an  early  grave,  he  took  the  surest  method  of  im 
mortalizing  her. 

Bluff.  People  always  remember  pains  longer  than 
pleasure.  A  shock  of  any  kind  is  never  forgotten, 
but  this  scarcely  proves  that  the  shock  was  agree 
able,  or  that  it  is  right  to  inflict  gratuitous  suffering. 


152  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

Then,  again,  the  immortality  which  ill-fated  heroes  and 
heroines  experience  is  partly  due  to  the  perpetual 
protest  against  the  deep  damnation  of  their  taking-off. 

Critic.  I  think  it  is  due  to  the  fact  that  sym 
pathy  and  grief  are  more  profound  than  pleasure. 

Bluff.  I  wonder  who  would  care  for  the  fates 
of  imaginative  heroes  and  heroines  if  they  were  not 
lovers?  Love  is  the  passion,  my  good  sir,  that  makes 
the  whole  world  kin.  Youth  and  beauty  and  love 
prematurely  perishing — the  thought  is  so  exquisitely 
painful,  so  penetrating  and  intense,  that  the  whole 
nature  rises  up  in  rebellion  against  the  idea.  For 
this  reason  catastrophes  of  this  kind  are  only  per 
missible  in  high-wrought  poems,  dealing  with  well- 
known  tragedies.  No  man  should  invent  a  tragedy, 
and  especially  a  tragedy  of  life  of  to-day.  There 
has  been  and  is  too  much  suffering  in  the  world  to 
make  such  a  thing  endurable.  The  novel,  moreover, 
is  a  picture  of  life,  of  character,  of  manners  ;  it  is 
a  comedy ;  it  is  an  insight  into  modes  of  feeling  and 
action  ;  it  is  a  revelation  of  familiar  phases  of  exist 
ence  ;  and  tragedy  is  too  lofty  and  intense  for  the 
canvas.  Let  one  take  the  story  of  Hero  and  Lean- 
der,  or  of  Francesca,  or  of  Juliet,  and  weave  it  into 
a  poem,  if  he  will,  thereby  simply  emphasizing  a  sad 
story  already  known,  but  to  my  mind  tragedy  needs 
historic  perspective,  the  mist  of  distance,  the  sense 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  MODERN  FICTION.          153 

that  it  is  irretrievable,  to  commend  it  to  my  sym 
pathies. 

Critic.  Sympathy  seems  to  me  the  one  universal 
gift  of  mankind  ;  it  is  not  limited  to  class  or  period. 

Bluff.  Oh,  everybody  knows  how  to  weep,  but  it 
takes  a  fine  texture  of  mind  to  know  thoroughly 
how  to  enjoy  the  bright  and  happy  things  of  life. 

Critic.  The  easiest  thing  in  the  world  is  to  move 
people  to  laughter. 

Bluff.  By  buffoonery,  yes.  Antics  will  always  set 
an  audience  in  the  theatre  in  a  roar,  when  lightness, 
brilliancy,  wit,  the  flash  and  sparkle  of  genuine  gay- 
ety,  are  scarcely  felt  at  all.  Gayety,  let  me  tell  you, 
is  the  rarest  thing  in  literature  ;  and  it  is  the  most 
difficult  thing  an  actor  is  called  upon  to  express — 
so  difficult,  indeed,  that  we  now  rarely  find  it  on  the 
stage  at  all.  A  rude  throng  blubbers  at  sentiment 
and  roars  at  buffoonery ;  it  is  only  the  best  minds 
that  delight  in  intellectual  grace,  in  fine  thoughts 
finely  expressed,  in  the  happy  phrase,  in  the  winning 
word,  in  the  Saladin  blade  of  comedy. 

Critic.  Does  not  a  delight  in  mere  brilliancy,  in 
gay  lightness,  indicate  a  moral  deficiency  ?  People 
whose  moral  sense  is  acute  can  not  fail  to  take  a 
serious  view  of  life,  perhaps  even  a  sad  one,  and  to 
those  minds  vivacity  always  appears  thoughtless  and 
heartless. 


154  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

Bluff.  Vivacity  is  not  a  product  of  psychological 
study,  no  doubt.  It  is  another  form  of  objective 
art ;  it  is  a  part  of  the  splendor  of  the  external ;  it 
is  a  form  of  paganism.  Have  you  ever  thought,  by- 
the-way,  of  the  extent  to  which  paganism  characterizes 
our  fiction.  The  utter  exclusion  of  every  form  of 
religious  belief  or  sentiment  from  many  novels  wide 
ly  read  by  the  best  classes  is  very  surprising  and  per 
haps  significant.  These  novels  are  not  irreligious ; 
they  are  simply  non-religious.  They  are  not  hostile 
to  religion  in  any  of  its  forms ;  they  do  not  deny 
the  validity  of  faith,  nor  oppose,  either  directly  or 
by  implication,  any  of  the  creeds  or  any  current 
dogma ;  they  simply  are  as  silent  in  regard  to  relig 
ion  as  if  there  were  no  such  thing  in  the  world. 
They  are  not  more  completely  insensible  to  condi 
tions  of  mind  and  thought  that  may  be  supposed  to 
exist  in  Jupiter  or  Venus  than  they  are  dumb  to 
the  profoundest  and  the  most  prevailing  phases  of 
feeling  that  exist.  I  have  no  great  liking  for  the 
specially  religious  novel,  in  which  there  is  often  an 
offensive  intrusion  of  pious  sentiment ;  but  that  any 
one  should  undertake  to  portray  conflicts  of  passion 
and  emotion,  to  give  what  are  designed  to  be  faith 
ful  delineations  of  life,  and  yet  ignore  currents  of 
thought  and  motives  of  action  which  enter  into  and 
radically  color  all  phases  of  human  existence  and 


MjR.  BLUFF   O.V  MODER.Y  FICTIO.V.  \-- 

human  experience,  is  really  very  extraordinary.  I 
have  just  been  reading  Black's  "  Macleod  of  Dare," 
and  found  myself  in  contact  with  people  utterly 
without  the  religious  instinct  —  who,  oppressed  by 
sorrows,  suffering  under  misfortunes,  thwarted  in 
their  hopes,  plunged  into  grief  and  despair,  exhibit 
not  the  slightest  perception  of  a  great  Christian 
scheme  which  is  specially  designed  to  bring  solace 
to  the  heavy-hearted  and  offer  compensation  in  the 
future  for  sufferings  endured  here.  Neither  the 
grief-stricken  mother  and  her  attendants  in  Castle 
Dare,  nor  the  gay  pleasure-seekers  in  the  heart  of 
fashionable  London,  seem  ever  to  have  heard  of 
such  a  thing  as  an  overruling  Providence,  of  such  a 
trust  as  faith,  of  such  a  duty  as  submission,  of  such 
a  promise  as  immortality,  of  such  a  possession  as 
Christianity.  This  utter  exclusion  of  religious  thought 
I  have  named  paganism,  but  even  the  pagans  called 
upon  their  gods>  and  had  vague  surmises  as  to  worlds 
beyond  this,  while  these  men  and  women  are  as  in 
sensible  to  every  religious  aspiration  as  so  many 
statues.  Now,  the  question  is,  was  this  elimination 
of  Christianity  conscious  or  unconscious — a  delib 
erate  purpose  to  cast  out  God,  or  simply  an  evasion 
of  an  idea  that  would  have  uncomfortably  compli 
cated  the  artistic  design  of  the  author  ?  The  latter 
is  probably  the  true  solution,  yet  how  is  it  that  re- 


156  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

ligious  convictions  should  thus  complicate  the  pur 
pose  of  a  writer  ?  And  how,  assuming  it  to  be  true, 
is  he  privileged  to  disregard  an  important  factor  in 
his  problem  simply  because  it  adds  to  his  difficul 
ties  ?  Black,  as  we  all  know,  is  skillful  and  tireless 
in  his  analysis  of  motive  and  feeling;  he  penetrates 
the  workings  of  the  heart,  and  attempts  to  reveal  all 
its  mysteries,  yet  he  deliberately  eliminates  a  whole 
range  of  emotions,  casts  out  a  definite  and  powerful 
body  of  influences.  Whether  he  is  a  believer  or  not 
makes  no  difference.  Whatever  his  own  religious  con 
victions  may  be,  he  was  bound,  I  affirm,  in  depicting 
his  imaginary  people,  to  show  them  governed  by  the 
ideas  and  living  under  the  conditions  that  pertain 
to  men  and  women  in  real  life.  I  am  citing  Mr. 
Black  simply  as  a  representative  of  the  modern  sec 
ular  novelist.  In  numerous  other  novels  a  similar 
paganism  is  evinced.  Now,  it  is  right  enough,  ar 
tistically,  for  novelists  to  depict  their  heroes  and 
heroines  as  rejecting  Christianity;  they  may  imagine 
at  pleasure  communities  of  infidels  and  pagans,  and 
they  may  trace  the  growth  of  a  man's  heart  and 
mind  who  has  been  educated  in  entire  neglect  of 
religion  ;  but  how  can  they  be  justified  in  portray 
ing  characters  who,  being  reared  in  the  midst  of 
Christian  influences,  yet  act  as  if  there  were  no  such 
thing  as  Christianity  ?  I  ask  this  question  more  in 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  MODERN  FICTION. 


157 


the  interest  of  art  than  of  morals.  I  do  not  think  it 
at  all  certain  that  novels  would  be  chastened  or  their 
influence  rendered  better  by  the  incorporation  of 
religious  sentiment — which  may  so  readily  be  cari 
catured  or  distorted.  My  argument  simply  is,  that 
pictures  of  life  can  not  be  considered  true  or  ade 
quate  that  fail  to  measure  the  full  sum  of  things 
that  make  up  our  civilization  and  go  to  form  the 
average  man  and  woman. 

Critic.  I  agree  with  you  here  fully. 


X. 


SOME    OF    MR.   BLUFF'S    POLITICAL    NO 
TIONS. 

(On   the    Train.) 

BACHELOR  BLUFF, 
A  POLITICIAN. 

"  A  GREAT  statesman,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Bluff,  "  is 
only  a  great  negation."  This  was  said  in  reply  to  a 
comment  of  his  traveling  companion,  a  distinguished 
politician. 

"  Nothing  more,"  retorted  the  politician,  in  a 
tone  and  with  a  smile  of  mild  derision.  Mr.  Bluff 
caught  the  intonation  and  saw  the  smile.  He  gath 
ered  himself  together  at  once,  and  replied  with  ani 
mation  : 

"  Yes,  a  great  negation,  sir,  and  nothing  else. 
His  duty  is  simply  to  stand  sentinel  over  the  inter 
ests  of  society  in  order  to  protect  them  from  the 
presumptuous  intermeddling  of  fools." 

"  Undoubtedly,"   said    the    politician,    "  he   must 


SOME  OF  MR.  BLUFF'S  POLITICAL  NOTIONS.  159 

guard  the  interests  of  society,  but  that  is  a  poor  gen 
eral  who  always  remains  on  the  defensive.  Your 
statesman  must  advance ;  he  must  originate ;  he 
must  organize  rightful  forces  as  well  as  restrain  dan 
gerous  ones." 

"  Do  not,"  said  the  Bachelor,  "  reason  by  anal 
ogy.  That  is  always  misleading.  What  is  required 
of  generals  is  no  criterion  of  what  is  required  of 
statesmen.  In  society  there  are  immense  natural 
forces  at  work,  which  regulate  affairs  when  left 
to  their  undisturbed  operation  far  better  than  the 
wisest  men  that  ever  lived  could  do.  Were  it  pos 
sible  for  a  man  to  arise  who  could  comprehend  all 
the  intricate  workings  of  society,  who  could  follow 
through  all  their  mazes  the  operations  of  the  innu 
merable  threads  that  make  up  the  complex  web  of 
life,  we  should  have  a  statesman  to  whom  we  might 
gladly  entrust  the  organization  and  direction  of  af 
fairs  ;  but  such  a  man,  sir,  would  be  too  wise  to 
thrust  his  hand  into  the  complex  social  machinery. 
He  might  be  able  to  see  where  a  clog  arrested  the 
free  action  of  the  parts,  where  this  or  that  thread 
met  with  obstructions,  and  by  removing  these  ex 
traneous  things  promote  the  general  ease  and  smooth 
ness  of  the  movement — and  this  is  all." 

"  You  believe,  then,  in  a  sort  of  government  by 
nature — an  adjustment  of  the  whole  complicated  in- 


160  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

terests  of  society  by  two  or  three  primary  principles. 
Your  notions,  sir,  would  work,  perhaps,  in  element 
ary  conditions  of  society,  but  it  needs,  in  an  ad 
vanced  civilization,  the  supremest  knowledge  and 
highest  skill  to  stand  at  the  helm  and  successfully 
pilot  the  bark  of  state." 

"  There  is  no  such  knowledge  and  no  such  skill," 
interrupted  Mr.  Bluff.  "  They  have  never  been  mani 
fested.  They  have  never  been  displayed,  even  by 
your  greatest  men." 

"  Never,  sir  ?  " 

"  Never !  It  is  true  there  has  grown  up  in  the 
course  of  centuries  a  code  of  laws,  written  and  un 
written,  which  embody  altogether  a  great  deal  of 
political  wisdom  —  but  this  wisdom  is  almost  wholly 
of  a  negative  character.  It  has  taken  thousands  of 
years  for  legislatures  and  courts  of  justice  to  dis 
cover  with  some  show  of  knowledge  what  men  shall 
not  and  must  not  do ;  but  all  the  wise  men  of  the 
world  have  not  been  able  to  wisely  determine  what 
men  shall  do — excepting,  perhaps,  the  single  thing, 
that  they  must  render  justice,  that  they  must  respect 
the  rights  and  property  of  others.  And  yet  all  this 
is  distinctly  negative.  Thou  shalt  not  steal !  Thou 
shalt  not  murder !  Thou  shalt  not  bear  false  wit 
ness  !  Thou  shalt  not  commit  adultery !  Here  we 
have  all  the  law,  and  all  that  courts  and  legislatures 


SOME  OF  MR.  BLUFF'S  POLITICAL  NOTIONS.  161 

can  rightly  do  is  to  compel  their  observance,  or  pun 
ish  their  violation — that  is,  to  create  and  maintain  a 
thorough  police.  All  other  governmental  direction 
of  affairs  can  do  nothing  but  work  mischief ;  indeed, 
all  other  forms  of  governmental  interference  have  done 
nothing  but  work  mischief." 

"  Nothing,"  said  the  politician,  with  smiling  com 
posure — "nothing  but  one  vast,  impassive,  sublime 
negation  !  No  reforms  for  the  innumerable  evils  of 
our  social  organizations,  no  plans  for  the  education 
and  intellectual  development  of  the  people,  no 
thought  of  moral  duties  and  spiritual  life,  no  at 
tempt  to  advance  the  race  to  higher  planes  of  civili 
zation." 

"  By  Jove,  sir,"  roared  the  Bachelor,  "  you  have 
the  whole  transcendental  programme  pat !  Who  for  a 
moment  wishes  to  deter  the  advancement  of  civili 
zation,  and  all  that  ?  I  am  talking  about  the  du 
ties  of  government,  not  the  duties  of  the  Church,  or 
the  college,  or  the  Sunday-school — of  those  govern 
mental  duties  which  will  enable  the  Church  and  the 
college,  and  all  other  institutions,  to  work  out  their 
purposes  to  the  greatest  and  completest  advantage. 
There  is  perpetually  this  confusion  between  the  vol 
untary  social  and  religious  forces  of  society  and  the 
administration  of  government.  The  other  day  I 
read  in  an  essay  by  Froude,  the  historian,  a  passage 


1 62  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

which,  as  I  remember,  ran  as  follows  :  *  A  state  of 
things  in  which  the  action  of  government  is  restrict 
ed  to  the  prevention  of  crime  and  statutable  fraud, 
and  where  beyond  these  things  all  men  are  left  to 
go  their  own  way — to  be  honest  or  dishonest,  pure 
or  profligate,  wise  or  ignorant,  to  lead  what  lives 
they  please  and  preach  what  doctrines  they  please 
— may  have  been  a  necessary  step  in  the  evolution 
of  humanity ;  but,  as  surely,  if  no  other  principle 
had  been  ever  heard  of  or  acted  on,  civilization 
would  have  stood  still,  hardly  above  the  level  of 
barbarism.'  ' 

"  Upon  my  word,  sir,"  interrupted  the  politician, 
"  this  seems  to  me  very  sound  argument.  Where 
would  civilization  be  without  the  aid  and  guidance 
of  a  wise  authority  ?  " 

"  Where,  sir  ?  I  do  not  know  what  wise  au 
thority  would  have  done  for  us,  but  authority  such 
as  the  world  has  experienced  has  rather  held  civili 
zation  by  the  throat.  But  what  does  Mr.  Froude 
mean  ?  Now,  it  is  true  that  a  society  or  community 
in  which  no  other  principle  had  ever  been  heard  of 
than  that  of  the  'prevention  of  crime  and  statutable 
fraud,'  where  men  were  honest  or  dishonest,  pure  or 
profligate,  wise  or  ignorant,  as  they  chanced,  '  would 
have  stood  still,' as  Mr.  Froude  says, 'hardly  above 
the  level  of  barbarism.'  But  if  this  means  that  no 


SOME  OF  MR.  FLUFF'S  POLITICAL  NOTIONS.  163 

community  can  rise  above  the  level  of  barbarism 
where  the  government  is  actuated  by  no  other  prin 
ciple  than  that  of  the  prevention  of  crime  and  stat- 
utable  fraud,  then  the  argument,  sir,  is  false  through 
and  through,  from  the  foundation  upward,  and  is 
false  with  such  a  curious  inversion  as  to  afford  a  re 
markable  illustration  of  how  completely  the  records 
of  the  race  can  be  misread.  No  community,  obvi 
ously,  can  advance  in  civilization  unless  there  are 
powerful  moral  and  intellectual  forces  at  work  ;  but 
it  so  happens  that  the  governments  of  the  past,  even 
the  most  paternal  and  the  most  illustrious,  have  com 
monly  obstructed  rather  than  aided  those  forces. 
Governments  have  very  much  neglected  the  preven 
tion  of  crime,  have  rarely  efficiently  punished  stat- 
utable  frauds,  and  they  have  been  commonly  in 
tensely  indifferent  to  the  honesty  or  dishonesty,  the 
purity  or  the  profligacy,  the  wisdom  or  the  igno 
rance,  of  the  people.  They  have,  however,  been 
very  zealous  in  behalf  of  favorite  ecclesiasticisms, 
and  have  endeavored  with  all  their  might  to  main 
tain  certain  forms  of  religious  belief.  They  have 
concerned  themselves  a  good  deal  about  dogma,  but 
very  little  about  morals ;  they  haven't  cared  a  straw 
about  the  purity  or  profligacy  of  the  community,  but 
have  looked  well  to  see  that  the  people  have  paid 
their  tithes,  and  acknowledged  the  supremacy  of  the 


164  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

established  Church.  In  pursuance  of  these  purposes 
they  have  at  various  times  constituted  a  good  many 
statutable  offenses  which  in  equity  were  not  offenses, 
and  these  fictitious  crimes  have  been  punished  with 
abundant  energy.  At  times  when  highways  swarmed 
with  banditti,  when  no  one  could  venture  abroad 
without  means  of  defense,  when  robbery  and  vio 
lence  abounded,  when  neither  life  nor  property  was 
safe  because  of  the  gross  neglect  and  indifference  of 
the  state,  men  and  women  were  zealously  burned, 
and  whipped,  and  imprisoned,  for  some  defection  in 
the  way  of  religious  belief.  At  times  when  roads 
were  so  neglected  that  travel  was  laborious  and  diffi 
cult,  and  rivers  were  without  bridges  ;  when  on  all 
sides  was  needed  energetic  administration  in  direc 
tions  that  would  advance  the  practical  welfare  of  the 
people,  rulers  always  exhibited  zeal  enough  and 
found  resources  enough  to  build  grand  cathedrals 
and  fine  palaces.  The  whole  history  of  govern 
ment,  I  affirm,  is  a  record  of  meddlesome  and  oppres 
sive  things  done  and  necessary  things  left  undone. 
The  state  has  always  taxed  trade,  handicapped  in 
dustry,  vexatiously  embarrassed  commerce,  suppressed 
opinion,  retarded  the  growth  of  knowledge,  hin 
dered  intellectual  activity,  and  proved  itself  in  nu 
merous  things  a  common  nuisance.  It  has  always 
so  retarded  civilization,  either  by  its  interferences 


SOME  OF  MR.  BLUFF'S  POLITICAL  NOTIONS.    165 

or  its  neglects,  that  advance  has  been  rendered 
possible  only  by  controlling  and  subordinating  it,  by 
virtually  dethroning  it,  by  compelling  it  to  keep 
within  or  nearly  within  its  proper  province.  Rulers 
have  never  understood  that,  by  simply  limiting  the 
function  of  government  to  the  preservation  of  order, 
they  would  more  effectually  than  by  any  other  means 
bring  all  the  forces  of  society  into  full  and  free  ac 
tivity.  In  view  of  the  wretched  mistakes  and  appall 
ing  crimes  governments  have  thus  committed,  it  is 
amazing  to  see  a  man  like  Mr.  Froude  confound 
things  in  the  way  he  does  —  wholly  confusing  the 
forces  that  underlie  government  with  the  restrictions 
that  operate  in  the  name  of  government.  The  more 
we  study  the  past  the  more  it  becomes  evident  that, 
while  government  is  indispensable  up  to  a  certain 
point,  our  civilization  has  advanced  in  spite  of  it 
rather  than  by  its  aid.  Governments  have  created 
more  disorders  than  they  have  suppressed ;  they 
have  made  dangerous  classes  by  their  oppression  and 
injustice ;  and,  while  we  are  not  yet  far  enough 
advanced  to  do  without  them  altogether,  it  is  im 
portant  to  keep  them  closely  to  their  proper  work. 
Let  them  preserve  order  and  keep  the  peace.  Art 
and  letters  and  industrial  energy  will  carry  on  civ 
ilization  triumphantly  without  their  aid  or  interfer 
ence.  These  things,  indeed,  so  far  have  flourished 


1 66  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

pretty  nearly  in  direct  ratio  to  the  extent  that  gov 
ernment  has  let  them  alone.  The  most  important 
task  now  before  the  world  is  the  subordination  of 
government,  forcing  it  within  a  rigid  limitation  of 
its  powers  and  its  duties." 

"  It  would  be  impossible,"  replied  the  politician, 
"  to  hold  people  together  without  governmental  au 
thority.  We  should  see  the  strong  subjugating  the 
weak ;  security  of  life  and  property  would  be  un 
known." 

"  Everybody  knows  that  a  police  force  must  exist 
somewhere — a  power  to  restrain  the  unruly,  to  pre 
vent  disorder.  But  it  is  absurd  to  suppose  that  the 
balance  and  stability  of  society  are  maintained  by 
power  or  force  of  any  kind.  The  millions  of  people 
in  New  York  are  not  kept  in  order  by  fifteen  hun 
dred  policemen  ;  this  police  is  necessary  to  adjust 
the  incidental  frictions  that  occur,  and  to  repress 
the  dangerous  tendencies  of  an  unruly  few.  Order 
is  maintained  among  the  mass  because  their  inter 
ests  are  on  the  side  of  order.  Wherever  they  are 
not  on  the  side  of  order,  nothing  but  a  military  des 
potism  can  maintain  peace  or  security  of  any  kind. 
To  repress  the  unruly  and  adjust  incidental  colli 
sions  are  the  purposes  of  state  machinery,  but  these 
are  the  very  things  that  your  ideal  government  has 
for  the  most  part  neglected.  Politicians  have  been 


SOME  OF  MR.  BLUFF'S  POLITICAL  NOTIONS.  167 

too  busy  with  the  intrigues  of  courts,  or  occupied 
in  the  appropriation  of  spoils,  to  look  very  closely 
after  the  maintenance  of  order  or  the  administration 
of  justice,  and  have  generally  made  one  with  the 
strong  in  their  subjugation  of  the  weak.  The  na 
tions  have  been  torn  to  pieces  by  the  quarrels  and 
contests  of  rulers,  by  their  thirst  for  power,  by  their 
greed  for  wealth,  by  their  furious  jealousies ;  and 
now  and  then  a  king  or  statesman  has  won  immense 
fame  by  simply  not  furthering  these  evils,  by  not 
proving  himself  a  curse  to  the  people  he  rules  over. 
This  is  the  best  that  can  be  said  for  any  of  them. 
Every  principle  of  constitutional  liberty,  every  ac 
cepted  political  theory  upon  which  our  welfare  rests, 
has  come  from  the  people,  been  forced  upon  rulers 
after  many  rebellions.  Statesmen  have  invented 
nothing  and  discovered  nothing;  have  never  com 
prehended  the  foundations  of  society,  the  operations 
of  interests,  or  the  action  of  social  forces.  Princi 
ples  have  been  discovered  by  philosophers  in  their 
closets,  never  by  men  in  power.  Statesmen  have 
sometimes  adopted  the  principles  of  philosophers — 
as  in  the  case  of  Peel  taking  up  the  free  trade  of 
Adam  Smith — but  nothing  valuable  to  mankind  has 
come  from  the  rulers  of  mankind  ?  " 

"  Absolutely  nothing,  sir  ?  "  said  the  politician. 

"  Absolutely  nothing.     The  greatest  political  dis- 


l68  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

covery  ever  made  is  the  principle  that  government 
has  no  rightful  authority  over  the  religious  faiths 
of  its  subjects.  It  is  absolutely  impossible  to  over 
state  the  importance  of  this  principle  —  which  our 
ancestors  were  the  first  to  discover — which  deprives 
the  state  of  a  power  that  has  wrought  more  ruin 
and  brought  more  suffering  than  almost  any  one 
thing  else.  This  was  a  great  step  toward  the  liber 
ty,  peace,  and  security  of  the  subject,  but  it  did  not 
come  from  men  in  power,  and  it  is  a  principle  little 
understood  throughout  the  world  among  those  in 
authority  even  to-day.  It  was  a  great  step  ;  but  it 
is  only  one  step.  The  next  thing  to  establish  is  that 
government  has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  trade 
or  commerce,  except  to  protect  it  —  by  "protect," 
meaning  simply  police  protection,  guaranteeing  to 
each  man  the  right  to  work  out  his  purposes,  so  long 
as  they  are  not  injurious  to  the  purposes  of  others, 
in  his  own  way,  secure,  unmolested,  undisturbed." 

"  Your  fierce  censure  of  governments,"  remarked 
the  politician,  "  is  simply  a  censure  of  the  wrongs 
they  have  committed  and  the  mistakes  they  have 
made.  As,  despite  these  wrongs  and  mistakes,  the 
people  have  developed  from  rude  barbarism  to  gen 
eral  intelligence  and  civilization,  I  must  think  that 
governments,  as  a  whole,  have  not  been  so  bad." 

"  Civilization,  sir,  has   advanced  mainly  in  spite 


SOME  OF  MR.  BLUFF'S  POLITICAL   NOTIONS.    169 

of  government — that  is,  in  spite  of  the  restrictions, 
the  burdens,  and  the  oppressions  of  government  as 
it  has  existed — for  obviously  no  government  at  all 
would  have  been  even  worse  than  the  hard  master 
which  has  ruled  in  that  name.  It  seems  to  me  that 
this  is  a  very  important  thing  for  the  world  to  realize 
—  and  apparently  a  very  difficult  one,  for  every 
where  we  see  people  adhering  tenaciously  to  the 
notion  that  the  state  can  remedy  everything,  that 
all  things  can  be  made  sweet  and  comfortable  if 
only  the  right  laws  are  passed  and  enforced.  Em 
phatically  we  want  right  laws,  but  we  want  very 
few  laws ;  what  people  really  need  is  to  see  that 
they  owe  to  themselves  and  to  nothing  else  such 
progress  as  they  have  made,  that  their  well-being 
is  the  outcome  of  natural  forces  permitted  to  act 
without  obstruction,  that  society  is  held  together  by 
its  own  internal  coherence,  and  not  by  artificial 
pressure,  and  that  it  develops  by  its  own  element 
ary  forces,  and  not  by  the  dictation  or  the  author 
ity  of  statutes  or  makers  of  statutes." 

"  All  people  should  be  taught  to  love  and  re 
spect  authority." 

"  They  should  be  taught  to  respect  rightful  au 
thority,  and  to  hold  fettered  to  the  earth  all  other 
bonds.  They  should  be  taught  to  obey  necessary 

laws,  and  to  scatter  to  the  winds  all  others." 
8 


170  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

"  Will  they  not  mistake,  and  scatter  to  the  winds 
wise  laws  ?  " 

"  They  would  soon  discover  that  order  is  neces 
sary,  and  that  laws  must  be  maintained  which  pre 
serve  order,  and  that  all  others  are  monstrous  im 
pertinences.  They  will,  I  trust,  in  time  discover  that 
statecraft  is  not  nearly  so  great  a  thing  as  it  is 
supposed  to  be  ;  that  the  politician  fills  a  place  far 
transcending  his  importance.  Now  they  most  unduly 
exalt  him.  They  hang  upon  his  doings,  discuss  his 
theories  and  his  projects,  watch  his  movements,  lis 
ten  to  his  utterances,  and  gossip  about  his  intrigues. 
Glance  at  things  at  Washington,  and  the  relation  of 
the  press  and  of  the  whole  public  to  the  doings 
there !  We  see  scores  of  correspondents  transmit 
ting  to  the  journals  in  every  section  elaborate  re 
ports  of  idle  personal  squabbles  in  the  Congressional 
chambers.  We  find  ponderous  sheets  and  almost 
endless  books  and  pamphlets  devoted  to  recording 
debates  that,  for  the  most  part,  relate  to  party  disci 
pline,  to  the  distribution  of  spoils,  or  to  contests  for 
office.  Who  shall  or  shall  not  be  collector  of  the 
revenues  of  New  York,  or  who  shall  distribute  the 
mails  at  Philadelphia  —  or  some  matter  of  similar 
import  —  is  continually  agitating  the  country  from 
one  end  to  the  other.  Issues  of  this  character  fill 
thousands  of  newspapers  with  rumors  and  discus- 


SOME  OF  MR.  BLUFF'S  POLITICAL  NOTIONS.   \j\ 

sions,  load  the  mails  with  correspondence  and  pam 
phlet  -  speeches,  keep  busy  an  army  of  telegraph  - 
reporters,  and  fix  the  attention  of  the  whole  nation 
upon  the  actors  in  the  senseless  struggle.  Is  there 
anything  else  in  the  world  so  full  of  noise  and 
sound,  heat  and  agitation,  in  behalf  of  a  matter  so 
utterly  insignificant  ?  From  the  assembling  of  Con 
gress  until  its  adjournment,  all  its  doings  are  watched 
with  a  public  concern  which,  to  the  philosophical 
observer,  is  supremely  absurd.  Rarely,  indeed,  do 
the  political  doings  at  the  Capitol  involve  issues  of 
any  real  importance.  There  is  a  little  tinkering  of 
the  tariff,  and  an  immense  gathering  of  representa 
tives  of  all  sorts  of  interests  to  secure  the  tinkering 
to  their  special  advantage ;  there  is  a  vast  crowd  of 
hungry  office-seekers  flowing  into  the  lobbies  of  Con 
gress  and  the  antechambers  of  the  departments  ; 
there  are  levies  and  dinner-parties  by  the  high  offi 
cials  ;  there  are  a  great  number  of  bills  for  the  pro 
motion  of  private  ends  continually  urged  upon  the 
attention  of  the  learned  legislators ;  there  are  fierce 
debates  between  wise  leaders  that  agitate  each  po 
litical  faction  to  its  center ;  there  are  revelations 
of  frauds,  and  explanations  that  explain  them  away, 
and  more  explanations  that  explain  the  explained ; 
there  is  an  immense  fund  of  gossip  and  scandal 
furnished  for  the  delectation  of  idlers  all  over  the 


172  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

land  —  and  can  any  man  say  what  there  is  more  ? 
And  the  men  who  take  part  in  this  drama  of  fuss 
and  fustian  are  held  up  as  shining  lights." 

"  Assuredly,"  said  the  politician,  "  there  are  some 
capable  statesmen  among  all  our  men  in  high  posi 
tion." 

"  Oh,  yes,  they  have  abundance  of  capacity  of 
a  certain  sort.  Many  of  them  have  genius  for  de 
bate  ;  are  brilliant  leaders  of  faction ;  know  admi 
rably  how  to  manage  elections  and  create  public 
opinion — but  what  statesman,  so  called,  is  identified 
with  any  principle  ?  There  is  scarcely  an  instance 
where  one  of  them  exhibits  a  scientific  knowledge 
of  the  subjects  which  he  discusses ;  rarely  an  oc 
casion  where  one  throws  light  upon  any  of  the 
vexed  social  problems  into  which  they  thrust  their 
crude  legislation.  Who  is  an  acknowledged  au 
thority  in  political  economy  ?  Who  has  mastered 
the  wages  question  ?  WTho  understands  the  opera 
tions  of  finance  and  the  laws  of  money  ?  Who 
even  understands  the  principles  of  free  government? 
What  politician,  for  instance,  could  have  written 
Mill's  essay  on  *  Liberty  '  ?  What  politician  any 
where  analyzes,  sifts,  reaches  the  inner  meaning  ? 
Who  does  or  can  expound  or  explain  primary  prin 
ciples  in  politics?  Your  politicians  are  almost  ex 
clusively  men  who  desire  power;  who  are  enamored 


SOME  OF  MR.  BLUFF'S  POLITICAL  NOTIONS.   173 

of  the  public  admiration  that  follows  their  useless 
vocation ;  and  they  exhibit  an  unusual  deal  of  skill 
in  obtaining  and  holding  power.  I  declare  emphat 
ically  that  this  class  must  be  subordinated,  must 
hold  a  lower  place  in  public  estimation,  if  the  peo 
ple  are  to  advance  to  a  higher  plane  of  intellectual 
life.  Men  of  ideas,  of  investigation,  of  scientific 
training  and  thought,  of  philosophical  analysis,  should 
fill  a  larger  place  in  public  thought.  The  politi 
cians  must  be  accepted  as  the  necessary  instruments 
of  administering  government,  but  whose  doings  are 
worth  little  more  the  attention  now  bestowed  upon 
them  than  are  the  enactments  in  a  police  court." 

"  In  the  administration  of  law,  at  least,  we  re 
quire  men  of  the  highest  character;  and  their  duties 
are  inferior  to  none." 

"  If  our  judges  may  be  called  politicians,  then  in 
this  direction  politicians  should  suffer  no  abridgment 
of  power  nor  decay  of  influence;  but  the  judiciary 
is  more  scientific  than  political  in  its  training ;  at 
least  it  commonly  has  and  should  have  the  exact 
scientific  mind  and  the  philosophical  insight  —  and 
with  these  qualities  it  may  be  safely  intrusted  with 
the  highest  public  duty,  the  administration  of  jus 
tice.  If  you  argue  that  the  makers  of  laws  should 
have  no  secondary  rank  to  those  who  administer 
laws,  I  reply  that  statute  laws  are  commonly  little 


174  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

more  than  the  cumbersome  experiments  of  politi 
cians,  while  the  common  law  is  the  embodiment  of 
judicial  analysis,  and  is  one  of  the  few  things  from 
the  past  of  endurable  value.  When  the  limited  uses 
of  government  are  recognized,  the  influence  and 
the  power  of  the  politician  subordinated,  and  the 
public  intelligence  directed  to  the  study  of  prin 
ciples  rather  than  to  the  partisanship  of  factions, 
we  shall  have,  in  my  opinion,  a  more  healthy  public 
sentiment  and  a  wiser  national  record." 

41 1  see  no  chances  of  any  such  change,"  said 
the  politician. 

"  Yes ;  it  is  likely  that  my  hopes  are  father  to 
my  thoughts.  But  is  it  not  amazing  that  people 
are  so  beset  with  the  idea  that  it  is  the  province 
of  government  to  regulate  everything  and  attempt 
everything?  Even  people  who  admit  in  some  de 
gree  the  limitation  of  government,  are  often  bent 
upon  government  carrying  out  their  own  special 
notions.  No  one  seems  to  see  that,  if  the  State 
attempts  any  one  thing  beyond  its  legitimate  duties, 
it  must  and  will  attempt  other  things,  until  at  last 
its  busy  intermeddling  makes  a  host  of  mischiefs. 
If  government,  in  obedience  to  a  clamor  from  one 
quarter,  is  to  establish  scientific  schools,  then  it 
will  be  urged  by  another  class  to  found  art-schools, 
and  by  still  another  class  to  organize  music-schools. 


SOME  OF  MR.  BLUFF'S  POLITICAL  NOTIONS.   175 

In  undertaking  the  education  of  the  people  at  all, 
there  is  sure  to  be  a  continual  pressure  upon  it  to 
carry  out  this  or  the  other  favorite  project  by  peo 
ple  who  think  that  government  ought  to  be  not 
only  paternal,  but  paternal  in  the  particular  direc 
tion  which  they  advocate.  Some  people  want  col 
leges  and  schools  supplied  by  government ;  others 
want  art-galleries  and  museums  fostered  by  the  State ; 
others  think  that  the  theatre  and  the  opera  should 
have  the  aid  of  the  State;  still  others  ask  why  lit 
erature  is  not  patronized  by  Congress;  more  practi 
cal  people  insist  that  canals  must  be  dug,  and  rail 
ways  and  ships  built,  by  government;  there  are  still 
others  who  think  that  the  telegraph  and  the  express 
business  should  fall  under  State  control;  and  so  on, 
until,  if  all  suggestions  were  carried  out,  pretty 
nearly  the  whole  functions  of  society  would  be  in 
the  hands  of  our  rulers.  How  is  it,  of  all  peoples, 
that  Americans  so  disregard  their  own  traditions 
and  their  own  example  in  this  matter?  Have  we 
not  triumphantly  shown  what  voluntary  energies  can 
do  ?  Nowhere  in  the  world  is  the  Church  so  well 
supported,  so  active  in  its  mission,  so  energetic  and 
prosperous,  as  it  is  by  the  voluntary  system  in 
America.  The  Sunday-school  is  another  example 
of  what  an  immense  work  may  be  done  by  volun 
tary  energies.  We  may  be  certain  that  the  success 


176  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

of  the  voluntary  method  in  the  Church  and  Sunday- 
school  gives  assurance  that  it  would  also  be  suc 
cessful  for  education,  aesthetic  culture,  and  all  prac 
tical  enterprises.  The  wonderful  growth  of  America 
has  been  largely  due  to  the  fact  that  here  more 
than  elsewhere  government  gives  every  man  free 
play  and  elbow-room.  That  is  the  whole  secret 
of  a  wise  government  and  a  prosperous  people. 
Let  energies  of  all  kinds  have  opportunity;  regu 
late  only  those  things  that  obstruct  energy,  and  our 
future  well-being  is  assured." 

"  I  can  at  least  agree  with  you,"  said  the  politi 
cian,  "  so  far  as  regards  many  unwise  and  some 
dishonest  projects.  So  long  as  government  enters 
only  into  rightly  considered  schemes,  into  measures 
calculated  for  the  good  of  the  whole  public,  I  can 
see  no  danger  in  its  exercise  of  power.  The  threat 
ening  feature  of  our  politics  is  the  corruption  that 
prevails  in  political  life." 

"  This  corruption  is  the  inevitable  consequence 
in  republics  of  extended  powers.  Every  man  owns 
the  government,  he  thinks,  and  schemes  to  milk  it, 
and  these  schemes  need  not  be  dishonest  in  order 
to  be  dangerous.  There  is  more  to  fear  from  the 
abundance  of  what  may  be  called  entirely  honest 
schemes,  than  the  few  dishonest  projects  that  get 
before  our  Legislatures.  Dishonesty  has,  at  its  worst, 


SOME  OF  MR.  BLUFF'S  POLITICAL  NOTIONS.  177 

strict  limits.  The  public  danger  is  far  more  urgent 
in  those  things  that  have  the  public  sanction,  that 
in  themselves  are  commendable,  that  appear  desir 
able  for  the  public  good,  that  enlist  the  enthusiasm 
and  national  pride  of  the  people,  that  have  the  sup 
port  of  worthy  and  cultured  people,  that  seem,  on 
their  face,  eminently  proper  things  to  do.  It  is 
the  multiplication  of  functions  in  desirable  things 
that  threatens  the  permanent  security  of  our  politi 
cal  institutions.  I  repeat  with  emphasis  that,  if 
there  is  one  thing  more  than  another  our  public 
should  learn,  it  is  the  necessity  of  subordinating 
government,  of  withdrawing  from  it  every  function 
not  absolutely  necessary,  of  remanding  to  the  do 
main  of  private  enterprise  the  innumerable  schemes 
continually  brought  before  it,  all  calculated,  however 
much  they  may  be  projected  in  the  name  of  public 
good,  to  overweigh  us  with  taxes,  to  foster  lobbyism — 
one  of  the  curses  of  the  country — to  increase  bribery 
and  corruption,  to  render  legislation  a  means  of 
serving  innumerable  personal  ends,  and  by  these 
hurtful  influences,  as  well  as  by  many  practical  inju 
rious  effects,  to  retard  our  prosperity,  if  not  to  de 
stroy  our  institutions.  Let  us  have  done  with  it  all. 
Can  you  not  agree  with  me  ?  " 

"  Where,  then,  sir,  would  be  my  vocation  ?  " 

"  Where,  indeed  ?  " 


XI. 

MR.    BLUFF   AS   AN   ARITHMETICIAN. 

(In  the  Laboratory.} 
MR.  BLUFF  AND  A  BELIEVER  IN  INFINITESIMAL  DOSES. 

Bluff.  So  you  still  adhere  to  the  Hahnemann 
theory  of  infinitesimal  doses.  Is  it  as  popular  as 
ever? 

Believer.  More  and  more  popular.  It  grows  in 
favor  every  day,  but  perhaps  there  is  not  such  gen 
eral  adherence  to  high  dilutions. 

Bluff.  What  are  high  dilutions  ? 

Believer.  From  the  hundredth  to  the  two  hun 
dredth.  The  larger  number  of  practitioners,  how 
ever,  probably  do  not  go  beyond  the  thirtieth  deci 
mal  trituration. 

Bluff.  Decimal  triturations  !  It  was  once  alto 
gether  centesimal  triturations,  was  it  not  ? 

Believer.  There  is  possibly  a  little  modification 
here.  The  decimal  is  superseding  the  centesimal. 

Bluff.    But   that   is   a   big   change,    between   tens 


MR.  BLUFF  AS  AN  ARITHMETICIAN.       179 

and  hundreds.  However,  if  one  believes  in  these 
triturations,  he  is  not  likely  to  care  much  whether 
his  drug  comes  through  a  hogshead  or  so  of  water 
more  or  less. 

Believer.  Hogsheads  of  water  ?  Why  do  you 
exaggerate  in  this  unfair  manner  ? 

Bluff.  Exaggerate?  Let  us  look  into  your  charge 
a  little.  Drugs,  you  say,  are  attenuated  through 
thirty  dilutions — we  will  not  explore  the  region  of 
the  high  potencies.  Now,  what  is  a  dilution  ?  To 
begin,  what  is  the  first  decimal  dilution  ? 

Believer.  One  grain  of  a  drug,  or  the  mother- 
tincture,  diluted  in  nine  drops  of  alcohol  or  water. 

Bluff.  So  I  understand.  And  the  second  dilu 
tion  is  a  drop  of  the  first  dilution  in  nine  drops  of 
alcohol  or  water — let  us  say  water.  And  the  third 
is  a  drop  of  the  second  similarly  diluted  through 
nine  parts  of  water ;  and  the  fourth  is  a  drop  of  the 
third  similarly  attenuated,  and  so  on.  Am  I  right  ? 

Believer.    Distinctly  so. 

Bluff.  I  am  delighted  to  hear  you  say  so.  Are 
you  in  a  humor  for  a  little  arithmetic  ?  Out  with 
your  pencil,  then,  and  set  down  how  many  drops  of 
water  are  required  for  the  thirtieth  dilution — that  is, 
how  many  drops  of  water  would  be  required  if  we 
carried  the  whole  of  the  mother-tincture  through  thirty 
attenuations.  It  is  ten  drops  for  the  first — that  is, 


l8o  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

the  tincture  and  the  water  make  ten — a  hundred  in 
the  second,  a  thousand  in  the  third. 

Believer.  Quite  right. 

Bluff.  Yes ;  it  is  exactly  so.  We  continue  to 
multiply  by  ten.  The  fourth  dilution  makes  10,000 
drops;  the  fifth  100,000.  But  we  may  as  well  jump 
the  intermediate  dilutions  and  set  down  1,000,000,- 
000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000  drops  as  the  requi 
site  number  for  the  thirtieth — being  just  one  nonill- 
ion,  that  being  the  term  for  the  eleventh  group  of 
numeral  orders.  I  am  afraid  a  good  many  hogs 
heads  of  water  would  be  required  to  hold  this  num 
ber  of  drops.  Have  you  a  liquid  scale  at  hand  ? 

Believer.  Not  at  the  moment. 

Bluff.  That  is  unfortunate,  for  you  will  have  to 
take  my  word  for  it  that  there  are  61,440  drops  in 
a  gallon.  Now,  the  large  Croton  Reservoir — 

Believer.  The  Croton  Reservoir!  What  are  you 
driving  at  ? 

Bluff.  Wait  and  see.  The  capacity  of  the  great 
Croton  Reservoir  in  Central  Park  is  one  billion  and 
thirty  million  gallons  :  1,030,000,000  multiplied  by 
61,440  give  us,  as  a  result,  63,283,200,000,000,  or,  let 
us  say  in  round  numbers,  sixty-three  trillions  of  drops 
of  water.  This  is  the  contents  in  drops  of  the 
reservoir.  It  is  a  large  number,  but  a  glance  at 
the  two  lines  of  figures  shows  us  at  once  that  it  is 


MR.  BLUFF  AS  AN  ARITHMETICIAN.       181 

not  nearly  enough  for  the  thirty  dilutions.  How 
many  reservoirs  will  give  it,  then  ?  Let  us  divide 
our  one  nonillion  by  these  sixty-three  trillions,  and 
see.  Can  you  carry  the  figures  in  your  mind's  eye  ? 
Let  me  set  them  down  for  you.  Here  they  are : 
1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,  divided  by 
63,000,000,000,000,  give  us —  Wonder  of  wonders  ! 

Believer.  Well,  what  is  it  ?  Give  us  the  figures, 
and  not  exclamations. 

Bluff.  For  my  part,  they  take  my  breath  away. 
For,  my  dear  sir,  in  order  to  put  a  drop  of  mother- 
tincture— the  whole  drop,  understand — through  thirty 
dilutions,  we  should  need  nearly  sixteen  quadrillion 
RESERVOIRS  of  the  capacity  of  that  in  Central  Park ! 
Here  are  the  exact  figures — 15,873,015,873,015,873, 
and  a  fraction.  This  is  dilution  with  a  vengeance. 

Believer.  Can  there  be  so  much  fresh  water  on 
the  continent  ? 

Bluff.  So  much  fresh  water  on  the  continent !  My 
good  sir,  you  have  little  idea  of  what  this  amount 
of  water  means.  In  fact,  it  is  impossible  for  the 
human  mind  to  grasp  a  number  so  large  as  this ;  so 
let  us  see  if  we  can  express  the  amount  of  liquid 
required  in  larger  bulks  with  fewer  numerals.  I 
do  not  know  the  area  of  the  Central  Park  reservoir, 
but  upon  the  map  it  appears  to  be  about  half  a  mile 
in  extent  in  one  direction,  and  a  little  less  in  the 


182  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

other,  but  it  tapers  somewhat  toward  one  end.  Now, 
if  we  estimate  that  a  mile  square  would  contain 
five  such  reservoirs,  we  are  pretty  close  to  the  facts 
— sufficiently  so  for  our  present  purpose.  The  geog 
raphers  estimate  the  entire  surface  of  the  world  to 
be  about  two  hundred  million  square  miles.  The 
surface  of  the  world  is,  then,  capable  of  containing 
one  billion  reservoirs  like  that  of  Central  Park. 
But  we  want  space  for  over  fifteen  billion  such 
reservoirs;  and  to  hold  this  number  you  will  find 
that  we  should  absolutely  require  15,873,015  worlds, 
and  a  fraction  !  Here  are  the  figures.  Nearly  sixteen 
million  worlds,  the  entire  surface  of  each  being  cov 
ered  with  water. 

Believer.  But  the  Croton  Reservoir  is  compara 
tively  shallow. 

Bluff.  Not  more  than  fifty  or  sixty  feet  deep — 
let  us  say  fifty  feet.  Let  us  therefore  deepen  our 
billion  reservoirs  standing  on  the  surface  of  the 
globe,  until  they  extend  downward  to  the  center, 
becoming,  say,  four  thousand  miles  deep,  that  being 
about  one  half  the  diameter  of  the  earth  at  the 
equator.  This  will  increase  their  capacity  some  four 
hundred  and  twenty  -  two  thousand  times  (that  is, 
would  do  so  if  their  area  were  uniformly  main 
tained)  ;  so  that,  if  the  world  were  composed  wholly 
of  water,  it  would  require,  at  the  very  least,  roughly 


MR.  BLUFF  AS  AN  ARITHMETICIAN.       183 

calculated,  more  than  forty  worlds  in  order  to  ob 
tain  one  nonillion  drops  of  water — that  is,  understand, 
to  put  the  mother-tincture  through  thirty  decimal 
dilutions.  If  the  world  were  a  cube  instead  of  a 
sphere,  a  tolerably  exact  calculation  could  be  given : 
it  would  then  require  nearly  thirty- eight  worlds  of 
water;  as  it  is,  if  we  say  forty-five,  we  shall  un 
derstate  the  number,  but  a  few  worlds  of  water 
more  or  less  are  of  no  moment.  Now,  remember 
that  for  every  dilution  we  must  multiply  the  pre 
ceding  sum  by  ten.  It  would  thus  require  four 
hundred  and  fifty  worlds  of  water  for  the  thirty- 
first  dilution;  four  thousand  five  hundred  for  the 
thirty-second,  and  so  on,  the  fortieth  dilution  need 
ing  four  hundred  and  fifty  billion  worlds  of  water ! ! 
If  the  twenty  million  stars  which  the  great  tele 
scopes  reveal  in  the  heavens  were  all  composed  of 
liquid,  they  would  not  nearly  supply  water  enough, 
unless  averaging  twenty-two  thousand  five  hundred 
times  larger  than  our  world,  to  put  one  drop  of 
tincture  through  forty  dilutions — and  yet  people  are 
constantly  cured  by  doses  of  the  one-hundredth  dilu 
tion  ! 

Believer.  This  is  preposterous  ! 

Bluff.  So  it  is — but  the  figures  are  approximately 
correct,  nevertheless.  Verify  them  for  yourself.  But 
understand,  it  is  easy  enough  to  get  the  thirtieth  dilu- 


184  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

tion.  Thirty  vials,  containing  ten  drops  of  water 
each,  would  enable  you  to  do  so — but  a  drop  from 
the  thirtieth  vial  would  be  equivalent  to  one  nonill- 
ionth  of  the  original  drug. 

Believer.  You  are  in  some  way  altogether  out, 
for  homoeopathy  is  brilliantly  successful. 

Bluff.  My  dear  sir,  the  vital  principle  of  homoe 
opathy  is  similia  similibus  curantur — "  like  cures  like  " 
— as  we  all  know,  and  practitioners  may  at  their 
pleasure  give  doses  from  the  crude  drug  to  the  two 
hundredth  dilution.  I  therefore  say  nothing  about 
homoeopathy  —  indeed,  I  find  no  fault  with  infini 
tesimal  doses,  if  anybody  likes  them.  I  should  pre 
fer  myself  ten  drops  of  the  thirtieth  dilution  to  ten 
drops  too  much  of  any  drug  you  may  name.  I 
affirm  nothing;  I  deny  nothing  —  I  have  simply 
amused  myself  with  a  few  figures,  that  is  all. 


XII. 


MR.  BLUFF'S  MEDITATIONS  IN  AN  ART- 
GALLERY. 

BACHELOR  BLUFF,  solus. 

"  I  THINK  I  am  a  lover  of  art,  but  how  tire 
some  is  the  ceaseless  cant  about  its  divine  and  ele 
vating  character  !  Has  any  of  the  arts — sculpture, 
painting,  architecture,  even  music  or  poetry  —  ever 
exercised  an  elevating  influence  upon  a  people  ? 
Absolutely,  we  have  only  to  look  back  to  see  that 
purely  art-loving  peoples  have  been  among  the  most 
cruel,  vicious,  and  morally  degraded  of  all  civilized 
communities.  If  one  looks  at  Italy,  where  art  in  its 
varied  forms  has  been  more  dominant  and  pervad 
ing  than  in  any  other  country  in  the  world,  he  can 
not  fail  to  suspect  that  art,  instead  of  elevating  a 
people,  may  lend  itself  with  fatal  facility  to  their 
decline.  The  real  basis  of  every  people's  advance, 
after  all,  is  the  diffusion  of  knowledge.  Art  with  a 
people  of  intellectual  activity  and  culture  falls  into 


186  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

its  due  and  proper  place,  which  is  that  of  a  grace 
ful  fringe  to  civilization.  It  indisputably  supplies 
ideas  and  pleasurable  sensations,  and  gives  to  char 
acter  some  of  its  most  agreeable  qualities;  without 
it,  life  would  be  barren  and  harsh  enough.  But 
the  suitable  comprehension  and  appropriation  of  art 
come  only  with  intellectual  culture.  With  people 
who  are  slothful  and  ignorant,  it  relaxes  fiber,  fills 
the  imagination  with  dreams  and  sensuous  pictures, 
and  helps  to  render  the  whole  nature  a  chaos  of 
emotions  and  passions.  However  admirable  sensi 
bility  in  an  individual  may  seem,  nothing  is  more 
true  that  in  eras  or  with  peoples  where  the  un 
trained  imagination  has  sway,  human  nature  exhib 
its  strange  phases  of  depravity.  Religion  itself  suc 
cumbs  to  it,  and  moral  principles  are  converted  into 
aesthetic  ecstasies.  There  is  only  one  real  basis  of 
advancement,  and  that  is  intellectual — the  increase 
of  knowledge,  the  domination  of  reason  over  imagi 
nation,  the  subordination  of  feeling  and  emotion  to 
the  judgment. 

"  Then,  there  is  the  spiritual  element  in  art, 

of  which  some  critics  write.  Is  there  such  a  thing? 
Is  spiritualism  in  art  anything  more  than  a  vague 
sentiment,  a  piece  of  transcendental  ecstasy?  Art, 
no  doubt,  is  capable  of  exercising  no  little  power 


MEDITATIONS  IN  AN  ART-GALLERY.      187 

over  our  emotional  susceptibilities,  but  it  is  no  new 
thing  to  imagine  that  our  sensuous  emotions  have 
their  birth  in  the  spirit,  and  are  a  form  of  divine 
exaltation.  Beauty  and  harmony  move  us  greatly ; 
there  is,  indeed,  something  strange  and  subtile  in  the 
delightful  sensations  which  measured  sound  and  har 
monies  of  color  and  line  awaken  in  us,  but  it  is 
quite  possible  that,  if  the  spirit  of  man  were  wholly 
freed  from  the  influences  and  seductions  of  the 
senses,  color  and  sound  would  cease  to  agitate  it,  or 
physical  beauty  have  any  meaning  for  it.  One  does 
not  find  the  races  with  whom  or  the  epochs  in 
which  spiritual  life  has  been  the  most  exalted  falling 
under  the  dominion  of  art ;  nor  have  persons  of  the 
finest  spiritual  strain  shown  either  the  need  or  much 
of  the  influence  of  art.  Art  charms  only  the  hu 
man  side  of  us.  Perhaps  the  Quakers,  in  their  rigid 
exclusion  of  music  and  color  from  their  spiritual 
exercises,  are  philosophically  right.  But  they  shut 
music  and  color  out  from  their  lives  altogether. 
Possibly  men  and  women  who  live  in  a  perpetual  in 
ward  light  can  do  this,  but  mortals  generally  live 
through  the  senses.  Symonds  speaks  of  art  becom 
ing  from  the  time  of  Giotto  to  Raphael  the  sole 
exponent  of  the  overmastering  religious  emotions  of 
the  age ;  but  was  it  not  far  more  truly  an  exponent 
of  the  passion  for  a  sensuous  form  of  religion 


188  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

rather  than  for  its  spiritual  bliss — for  the  pomp, 
the  music,  the  color,  the  splendor  of  a  grand  pic 
torial  worship,  rather  than  for  inner  light  and 
grace  ?  The  Renaissance  was  a  grand  revival  of 
art,  but  the  Reformation  was  a  grander  spiritual 
awakening,  in  the  heat  of  which  art  and  all  the 
emotions  that  art  excites  were  consumed.  I  can 
not  sympathize  with  that  form  of  religious  fervor 
that  fortifies  the  sensibilities  against  beauty ;  but 
there  is  no  denying  the  fact  that  intense  spiritual 
life  renders  everything  else  in  the  world  valueless. 
It  rises  to  a  plane  to  which  art  with  all  its  mani 
fold  seductions  can  not  rise.  And  this  is  also  true 
of  pure  intellectual  life.  Sound  and  color  have 
very  little  fascination,  I  fancy,  for  the  mind  en 
grossed  in  the  study  of  great  problems,  or  deeply 
concerned  in  any  pursuit  of  an  engrossing  char 
acter.  Neither  great  reformers  nor  great  thinkers 
have  exhibited  much  susceptibility  to  art,  at  least  in 
its  forms  of  painting  and  sculpture. 

"But  art  nevertheless  has  great  control  over  the 
human  heart.  Has  it  more  than  beauty  in  nature 
has  ?  Are  the  emotions  that  it  awakens  in  any  way 
different  ?  When  one  looks  upon  the  ravishing 
beauty  of  a  '  maiden  in  her  flower,'  can  it  be  pre 
tended  that  the  sensations  thus  awakened  are — diffi 
cult  as  they  are  to  analyze  or  to  comprehend  —  in 


MEDITATIONS  IN  AN  ART-GALLERY,      189 

any  wise  more  than  a  delight  of  the  senses — an  in 
explicable  emotion  which  color  and  contour,  fresh 
ness  and  grace,  have  the  power  to  excite  ?  Does 
loveliness  in  marble  awaken  emotions  other  than 
those  that  loveliness  in  flesh  stimulates,  unless  it  be 
the  single  one  of  admiration  for  the  skill  of  the 
copyist  ?  It  is  a  great  temptation,  no  doubt,  to  re 
mand  the  strange  agitations  of  the  senses  to  the 
spirit ;  they  are  certainly  subtile  and  profound  enough 
to  escape  dissection  ;  but  we  exalt  ourselves  by  illu 
sions  if  we  fall  into  the  habit  of  thinking  that  the 
delights  of  the  senses,  so  often  enjoyed  at  the  cost 
of  spiritual  purity,  are  really  identical  with  the  fe 
licities  of  the  soul.  But,  dear  me,  see  how  I  moral 
ize,  and  I  came  simply  to  look  at  some  pictures ! 

"  Well,  there  are  many  pleasing  pictures  here, 

but  I  have  discovered  in  my  travels  more  charming 
natural  ones.  That  is  human  nature.  We  are  all  of 
us  continually  finding  wonderful  picturesque  groups 
and  lovely  compositions  of  colors,  and  begging  the 
artists  to  come  and  paint  them  for  us.  But  the  ar 
tists  themselves  are  quite  sure  they  have  discovered 
charming  scenes,  and  wonder  how  the  world  can  be 
so  cold  and  insensible.  But  who  can  see  what  the 
artist  sees — who  could  see  what  I  saw  in  the  pict 
ures  I  have  discovered,  let  them  be  ever  so  well 


190 


BACHELOR  BLUFF. 


painted  ?  To  the  artist  all  the  pigments  on  his  can 
vas  are  united  with  the  life,  the  color,  the  motion  of 
the  original  scene.  When  he  looks  upon  the  can 
vas  the  mind  acts  as  well  as  the  eyes  see ;  he  per 
ceives  not  so  much  what  is  as  what  he  remembers  ; 
the  cheeks  of  his  painted  people  suffuse  with  color; 
their  eyes  sparkle  ;  the  light  laugh  breaks  from  their 
lips ;  the  shadows  of  the  trees  dance  and  play ;  the 
winds  lift  the  stray  locks  of  hair  and  bring  deli 
cious  odors ;  the  air  is  soft  and  sweet,  and  sends 
tingling  pleasure  through  the  veins ;  of  all  these 
things,  the  pigments  speak  to  him,  but  they  have  no 
such  message  to  others,  unless,  indeed,  a  rare  spirit 
comes,  one  unusually  imaginative  and  receptive,  who 
has  taught  himself  to  look  behind  the  composition 
on  the  canvas  to  the  thought  in  the  artist's  mind. 
This  is  a  great  limitation  to  art.  And  how  complete 
the  limit  is  in  portrait-painting  ! — for  who  can  get  a 
true  idea  of  a  face  from  the  most  skillfully  painted 
copy  of  it  ?  The  likeness  of  a  person  I  have  known 
recalls  to  my  imagination  the  expression  of  his  feat 
ures,  the  light  of  his  eye,  his  tone,  and  voice,  and 
manner ;  it  is  the  operation  of  my  own  mind  work 
ing  in  cooperation  with  what  the  painter  has  done 
that  creates  the  likeness  —  that  transfuses  with  real 
life  the  dead  image  before  me.  But  portraits  of 
people  we  have  not  met  are  but  faint  images  of  their 


MEDITATIONS  IN  AN  ART-GALLERY.      191 

originals,  or  they  are  misleading  ones,  as  we  dis 
cover  if  at  a  later  time  we  meet  them.  We  thus 
not  only  see  differently  because  of  different  tempera 
ments,  but  differently  because  of  the  absence  or 
presence  of  associated  ideas.  Half  of  the  power  in 
a  picture  that  moves  me  comes  in  this  way  from 
myself. 

"This  notion  is  applicable  to  what  has  re 
cently  been  said  about  the  human  element  in  land 
scape-painting.  It  is  necessary,  say  one  class  of 
critics,  that  landscape-painting  should  possess  hu 
man  interest — some  connection  with  man's  doings — 
in  order  to  give  it  any  real  or  permanent  hold  upon 
our  sympathies.  But  does  a  painting  really  possess 
human  sentiment  simply  by  putting  human  figures 
in  it  ?  Do  I  care  for  yonder  seashore  because  there 
are  figures  of  women  and  children  upon  the  beach, 
more  than  for  this  mountain-stream,  where  there 
are  no  signs  of  human  life  ?  I  might,  perhaps,  if 
the  figures  were  really  human  —  if  they  touched  me 
in  some  definite  way.  But  even  critics  who  require 
human  sentiment  admit  that  it  may  be  accomplished 
by  suggestion.  One  of  them,  I  remember,  cites 
Stanfield's  *  The  Abandoned  '  —  a  dismantled  ship 
rocking  on  a  stormy  sea  —  and  thinks  that  the  con 
nection  of  the  ship  with  man,  the  sort  of  semi- 


192  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

humanity  which  the  title  suggests,  gives  a  real  force 
and  interest  to  the  painting,  which  waves  and  sky 
could  not  produce.  Yes  ;  there  must  be  in  this 
way,  or  in  some  way,  human  interest — but  perhaps 
the  most  powerful  human  sympathy  may  come  from 
associated  ideas,  from  the  memories  that  a  painting 
awakens,  from  its  power  to  touch  the  imagination 
or  the  sympathies.  If  a  painting,  for  instance,  of  a 
forest  interior,  the  solitudes  of  which  are  disturbed 
by  no  human  presence,  is  full  of  imaginative  power 
and  strong  sympathies — if  the  painter  felt  and  ex 
pressed  the  scene  in  all  its  beauties  and  charms — 
the  spectator  identifies  with  it  the  full  beat  of  hu 
man  interest.  The  cool  shadows  are  to  him  a  dream 
of  delicious  rest  ;  the  fall  of  the  brook  over  the 
stones  sends  musical  murmurs  to  his  ear ;  he  feels 
the  pleasant  wind  fan  his  cheek  ;  the  sunshine  that 
flecks  through  the  leaves  charms  his  eye  with  its 
shifting  play  of  light ;  odors  from  the  mosses  and 
aromatic  plants  seem  to  fill  his  nostrils ;  the  scene 
in  its  completeness  takes  possession  of  his  whole 
nature,  fills  him  with  a  subdued  rapture,  becomes 
an  embodiment  of  his  emotions.  If  a  forest-scene 
has  no  power  of  this  kind  over  one's  imagination, 
it  is  really  less  than  nothing,  for  the  value  and 
charm  of  any  picture  must  lie  in  its  control  over  hu 
man  thought,  in  its  power  to  transport  the  spectator 


MEDITATIONS  IN  AN  ART-GALLERY.      193 

to  the  scene  and  permit  him  to  fill  it  with  his  own 
personality.  In  this  way  a  human  element  clearly 
often  does  enter  landscape  art  effectively,  efficiently, 
and  to  the  complete  identification  of  the  scene  with 
our  emotions  and  our  susceptibilities.  The  mere 
introduction  of  figures  obviously  can  not  of  itself 
create  human  interest;  if  they  form  a  part  of  the 
picture  in  such  a  way  as  to  strengthen  the  senti 
ment  of  the  landscape,  well  and  good ;  if  not,  they 
weaken  if  they  do  not  destroy  the  very  human  in 
terest  to  the  end  of  which  they  are  imported  into 
the  scene.  In  fact,  the  value  and  character  of  a 
painting  do  not  depend  upon  fixed  rules  at  all,  but 
upon  the  imagination  of  the  painter,  lacking  which 
his  human  figures  will  have  no  human  vitality  or 
hold  ;  possessing  which,  his  solemn,  empty  forest- 
depths  will  be  full  of  human  feeling. 

"  And  yet,  one  longs  sometimes  for  pas 
sionate  stir  in  pictures.  The  landscapes  that  I  have 
seen  have  great  charm,  but  what  landscape  can 
send  a  passionate  throb  from  the  heart  ?  Viewed 
that  way,  how  wearisome  almost  all  art  is!  There 
is  an  abundance  of  artistic  device,  of  munificent 
color,  of  excellent  execution,  of  agreeable  ideas ; 
but  when  does  anything  take  an  immense  hold 

upon    one's    sympathies  ?      Our    artists    ignore    the 
9 


194  BACHELOR   BLUFF. 

aspirations,  the  emotions,  and  the  passions  of  the 
race ;  and  yet  the  hold  an  art  has  upon  a  people 
must  depend  upon  the  measure  of  human  passion 
there  is  in  it.  People  haunt  the  galleries  in  search 
of  the  greatly  beautiful ;  they  yearn  for  stories  upon 
canvas  that  shall  fill  them  with  exalted  pleasure  ; 
they  long  for  the  profounder  passion,  for  the  thrill 
of  intense  sympathy.  The  universal  hold  that  art 
in  old  times  held  upon  the  people  was  due  to  in 
tense  mutual  sympathies ;  art  expressed  the  fervor, 
the  religious  ecstasy,  the  deep-seated  feelings  of 
the  whole  body  of  the  people — now  it  addresses  a 
few  blase  critics  and  jaded  connoisseurs.  What  if 
some  painter  should  arise  who  painted  for  us  great 
themes  in  a  great  manner?  There  would  be  a  dif 
ferent  public  in  our  galleries  then  —  the  passionate, 
warm-hearted,  large-souled  multitude  would  be  there ; 
such  a  painter  would  convey  to  the  hearts  of  mill 
ions  lessons  of  heroism,  of  fortitude,  of  faith,  of 
affection,  of  divine  beauty.  Perhaps  all  this  is  too 
much  for  human  genius.  George  Eliot,  I  recollect, 
declares  that  'the  instances  are  scattered  but  thinly 
over  the  galleries  of  Europe,  in  which  the  fortune 
or  selection  even  of  the  chief  masters  has  given  to 
art  a  face  at  once  young,  grand,  and  beautiful.'  It 
is  strange  that  youth  and  noble  beauty  should  be 
so  difficult.  Nor  can  I  say  that  I  much  like  the 


MEDITATIONS  IN  AN  ART-GALLERY. 


195 


grand  themes  of  the  old  painters  as  they  present 
them.  Is  it  possible  to  be  satisfied  with  any  of  the 
crucifixions  ?  Some  beautiful  figures,  some  noble 
faces — but  what  forced  composition  in  almost  every 
instance  !  And  as  for  the  contorted  and  distorted 
Christs  scattered  throughout  the  Continent,  they  are 
simply  appalling.  The  examples  of  physical  agony 
found  in  all  the  old  churches  show  the  rude, 
bloody,  melodramatic  kind  of  art  that  was  em 
ployed  to  reach  and  excite  the  people.  Am  I  to 
argue,  then,  that  the  attempt  now  to  paint  great 
themes  would  end  in  coarse  sensation?  It  would 
in  some  hands,  no  doubt ;  in  fact,  I  fear  the  result 
of  grand  themes  now  as  much  as  I  hoped  for  them 
a  moment  ago.  I  remember  that  a  '  Laughing  Boy,' 
by  Murillo,  in  Warwick  Castle,  fascinated  me  much 
more  than  that  painter's  *  Assumption  '  at  the  Louvre. 
But  this  is  because  the  *  Assumption '  is  too  great  a 
theme  for  any  human  skill ;  and  so  is  the  '  Cruci 
fixion';  so  is  the  figure  of  Christ  —  but  there  are 
some  grand  heads  of  Christ,  witness  Correggio's  and 
Guide's.  It  is  impossible  not  to  wish  for  a  stirring, 
heroic  art,  but  one  feels  the  danger  of  it. 

"  Old    art    did    certainly  have   some   relation 

to  currents  of  thought  and  national  tendency.  Now 
art  is  really  as  far  from  the  people  as  if  it  were  so 


196  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

many  hieroglyphs.  An  English  reviewer  has  lately 
written  of  the  reflection  of  national  character  in 
national  art.  Neither  in  England  nor  here  is  there 
any  such  thing.  There  is  no  common  ground  of  feel 
ing,  no  common  standard  of  judgment,  no  accepted 
basis  of  appreciation  or  interchange  of  ideas.  The 
art  world  is  a  world  of  its  own,  wherein  the  cult 
ure,  the  ideas,  the  aspirations,  are  essentially  differ 
ent  from  the  ideas  and  purposes  of  the  rest  of  the 
community.  Even  literary  circles  have  for  the  most 
part  little  in  common  with  art  circles,  poets  and 
writers  being  generally  a  little  more  ignorant  of  art 
beyond  its  historical  phase,  and  more  indifferent  to 
it,  than  any  other  class.  Artists  here,  for  the  most 
part,  simply  address  one  another,  and  a  small  circle 
of  admirers.  American  painters  are  commonly  cau 
tious,  conventional,  simple-minded,  with  no  theatri 
cal  fondness  for  sensation  or  extravagance,  loving 
their  art  in  its  minor  chords,  so  to  speak;  appre 
ciating  delicacy  and  purity  of  expression  much  more 
than  stirring  action.  Our  people,  on  the  other  hand, 
are  bold  and  restless,  full  of  invention,  delighting 
in  novelty,  ambitious  for  great  successes,  audacious 
in  conception,  and  inclined  to  emphasis  and  exag 
geration  in  all  that  they  utter.  Judging  from  our 
national  characteristics,  we  should  show  in  our  art 
vigorous  movement,  great  audacity,  boldness,  and  a 


MEDITATIONS  IN  AN  ART-GALLERY.       197 

passion  for  large  themes;  but  how  completely  the 
reverse  are  the  facts!  The  same  strange  contradic 
tion  is  apparent  in  England.  There  is  a  domestic 
art  there  that  is  very  popular,  and  it  hits  the  taste 
of  a  large  public,  but  this  is  only  one  side  of  the 
British  mind.  Britons  scarcely  less  than  ourselves 
are  restless  and  ambitious  ;  they  push  colonizing 
schemes  into  remote  quarters;  their  ships  penetrate 
every  sea ;  they  have  shown,  and  are  showing,  im 
mense  audacity,  enterprise,  and  a  spirit  of  aggran 
dizement —  all  of  which  has  some  place  in  their 
writings,  but  scarcely  any  in  their  art.  Recently 
English  artists  have  exhibited  a  great  fondness  for 
classical  subjects,  the  exhibitions  being  full  of  paint 
ings  of  Greek  and  Roman  scenes,  and  yet  it  would 
be  difficult  to  imagine  anything  more  radically  op 
posed  than  is  the  rugged,  picturesque,  and  barbaric 
English  character  to  the  refined  Greek.  French  art 
is  doubtless  nearer  to  national  character  than  either 
British  or  American  art ;  but  painters  like  Corot  and 
Millet  have  nothing  in  common  with  the  attributes 
usually  accredited  to  French  character  —  with  those 
painters  extravagance  and  theatrical  sensation  being 
utterly  unknown.  The  fact  is,  the  larger  number 
of  artists  and  writers  are  too  often  Bohemians,  with 
erratic  tastes  and  wholly  independent  modes  of 
thought,  and  for  these  reasons,  if  for  no  other,  are 


198  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

not  always  calculated  by  their  natural  bent  to  show 
the  age  and  body  of  the  time,  its  *  form  and  press 
ure.'  It  is  clear  that  national  character  must  not 
be  sought  for  in  art  —  which  is  proof  that  art  is 
essentially  an  exotic  ;  that  it  lies  upon  the  surface 
for  the  amusement  of  a  few.  To  the  community 
generally  it  is  an  idle  and  practically  worthless  thing, 
which  may  in  some  degree  be  accepted,  but  which 
has  very  little  place  in  the  earnest  interests  of  life. 
Can  there  be  a  great  national  art  until  all  this  is 
changed  ? 

"  How  many  vagaries  art  has  fallen  into  of 

late  !  The  vague,  the  unknown,  the  untranslatable, 
are  now  hotly  advocated  as  rightful  substitutes  for 
clearness,  precision,  and  revelation.  There  are  crit 
ics  who  appear  to  gauge  their  estimate  of  a  picture 
by  the  sum  of  eccentricity  it  displays;  and  we  act 
ually  find  undecipherable  smudges  held  up  as  suit 
able  examples  of  landscape-painting  !  It  is  very 
puzzling,  and  the  puzzle  is  not  less  by  calling  these 
performances  "  impression  "  pictures.  They  certainly 
impress  the  uninstructed  beholder,  but  not  in  a  way 
to  give  comfort  to  the  artist.  Why,  in  fact,  are 
they  specially  "  impression  "  pictures  ?  They  give  im 
pressions  of  nothing  but  of  the  incomprehensible ; 
or,  if  they  are  records  of  impressions,  a  key  is 


MEDITATIONS  IN  AN  ART-GALLERY.      199 

needed  to  translate  them.  An  impression,  accord 
ing  to  some  authorities,  is  an  attempt  to  fix  upon 
canvas  the  instantaneous  impression  of  a  scene — to 
catch  a  changing  mood  of  feeling,  a  fleeting  touch  of 
color,  a  vanishing  light,  a  sudden  insight  or  grasp 
— in  other  words,  to  take  a  landscape  on  the  wing, 
as  it  were.  If  it  were  possible  to  do  this  well, 
perhaps  something  would  be  accomplished  worth 
the  effort.  But  wherein  do  transitory  impressions 
differ  from  permanent  ones  ?  In  the  complex  action 
of  the  mind,  it  is  impossible,  even  in  an  instan 
taneous  impression  of  an  object,  to  obliterate  the 
host  of  associations  and  the  sum  of  experiences 
gathered  there.  We  know  the  human  features  so 
well  that  the  most  rapid  glance  at  a  face  conceiv 
able  is  sure  to  bring  before  us  all  the  parts — the 
eyes,  the  cheeks,  the  nose,  the  mouth,  all  are  sure 
to  distinctly  appear,  if  not  in  actual  vision  at  least 
by  associations  that  are  inseparable  from  the  vision. 
The  flash  of  lightning  that  reveals  a  figure  reveals 
it  to  our  mental  impressions  complete.  Each  of  us 
knows  a  tree  so  well,  carries  in  his  mind  its  color, 
its  construction,  its  play  of  light  and  shade,  that 
the  eye,  sweeping  over  a  forest  in  the  swiftest  man 
ner  possible,  will  inevitably  have  just  as  instantane 
ously  an  impression  of  the  forms  of  the  trees,  their 
spread  of  bough,  their  recesses  of  shadow,  their 


200  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

leaves  gleaming  and  quivering  in  the  light,  as  it 
has  of  the  fact  that  there  are  trees  there  at  all.  To 
think  of  a  tree  is  to  think  of  something  defined, 
of  something  possessing  known  characteristics  ;  and 
under  no  circumstances,  I  am  convinced,  would  it 
be  possible  for  the  human  vision  to  catch  a  glimpse 
of  trees  so  swiftly  as  to  make  them  seem  anything 
less,  or  anything  different,  or  anything  more,  than 
just  what  they  are.  It  will  be  said  that  we  do  not, 
in  fact,  see  the  complete  tree  under  such  circum 
stances,  but  only  think  we  do.  This  makes  no 
difference,  for  it  is  with  what  seems  that  art  has 
solely  to  do.  It  is  not  dealing  with  the  science  of 
optics,  but  with  appearances. 

"  The    impressionists,    it    seems,    condemn 

finish  in  pictures.  No  doubt  an  ignorant  notion 
prevails  that  smoothness  and  polish  are  the  crown 
ing  qualities  of  a  picture,  and  this  form  of  emascu 
lated  prettiness  should  be  denounced.  But  people 
who  rush  to  the  extreme  of  preferring  rudeness  and 
slap-dash  to  that  true  finish  which  completes  and 
helps  to  render  perfect,  commit  as  absurd  an  error  of 
judgment.  There  is  a  kind  of  finish  which  every  one 
is  entitled  to  expect  in  a  work  of  art — the  sort  of 
finish  found  in  the  great  masters.  Artists  of  all 
schools  and  critics  of  all  varieties  of  caprice  have 


MEDITATIONS  IN  AN  ART-GALLERY.      2O1 

no  difficulty  in  admiring  Rubens,  Raphael,  Murillo, 
Titian,  Vandyck,  and  the  host  of  great  painters. 
There  is  no  dispute  in  regard  to  these  painters  as  to 
what  is  '  finish  '  and  what  is  not ;  their  paintings  are 
felt  to  be  complete  ;  they  are  vital,  they  are  rich  in 
texture  and  color,  definite  as  to  form,  satisfying  as 
to  drawing ;  they  take  possession  of  us  fully  ;  they 
give  no  opportunity  for  men  to  say  they  are  lacking, 
whether  in  force  or  in  finish.  What  new  dogma  is 
this,  then,  that,  so  long  as  color  is  heaped  on  in  a 
vigorous  manner,  a  picture  must  be  accepted  as 
complete,  however  crude  and  raw  it  may  seem,  how 
ever  absolute  is  the  evidence  that  the  artist  stopped 
before  he  had  done  ? 

"  And  their  lack  of  finish  is  nine  times  out  of 
ten  simply  inability  to  give  finish.  The  sketches  of 
almost  every  artist  show  indications  of  skill ;  the  be 
ginnings  of  art  are  always  easy.  It  is  only  when 
sketches  are  developed  into  pictures  that  the  full 
resources  of  the  artist,  his  limitations  as  well  as  his 
resources,  are  made  known.  Many  a  sketch  indi 
cates  breadth,  freedom,  ease,  virility  :  the  difficulty 
is,  how  to  carry  these  qualities  on  to  their  legitimate 
end  ;  how  to  do  more  than  indicate  and  suggest — 
that  is,  how  to  perform.  In  every  art  just  this  diffi 
culty  arises.  Many  are  the  poets  that  have  good 
ideas,  readiness,  abundant  invention  ;  but  very  few 


2-2  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

are  the  poets  who  attain  sufficient  master}7  over  their 
art  to  give  the  last  finish,  the  touch  of  completeness, 
to  their  work ;  and  it  is  just  this  touch  of  complete 
ness,  this  supreme  finish,  that  separates  great  poetry 
from  inferior  poetry.  The  lesser  poets  are  not  so 
deficient  in  ideas  as  they  are  in  knowledge  of  their 
art — that  is,  how  to  complete.  There  are  thousands 
of  stories  and  romances  written  that  show  lively  im 
agination,  considerable  invention,  good  native  talent 
— but  how  few  that  come  up  to  the  high  standard 
of  finish  and  completeness  that  alone  make  great 
ness !  Any  sculptor  can  model  the  outlines  of  a 
figure ;  apprentices  do  this  much  in  every  Italian 
atelier  j  it  is  exactly  in  and  by  finish  that  the  accom 
plished  master  steps  in  and  lifts  the  work  to  perfec 
tion.  Painting  is  not  different  from  the  other  arts 
in  this  particular.  Every  recognized  great  painting 
that  exists  is  '  finished  ' ;  every  painting,  in  order  to 
be  great  or  worthy,  must  be  finished  —  not  made 
smooth  or  polished,  of  course,  but  brought  to  that 
state  of  completeness  that  the  methods  and  processes 
of  the  work  are  hidden,  so  that  one  who  looks  at  it 
sees  textures  and  not  paint,  force  by  nature  of  com 
pleteness  and  not  by  ruggedness,  things  and  not 
guesses  at  things. 

"  But,  after  all,  why  should  there  be  theories 


MEDITATIONS  IX  AX  ART-GALLERY.      -_-• 

— why  fixed,  preconceived  notions  ?  If  a  man  has 
anything  to  declare  in  art  or  letters,  let  him  choose 
his  own  methods.  Criticism  here  is  apt  to  be  simply 
impertinent.  It  is  one's  duty  to  stand  before  any 
work  of  art  solely  to  receive  impressions — not  to  for 
mulate  laws,  but  to  discover  intentions.  I  surrender 
myself,  therefore,  to  these  paintings;  I  banish  from 
my  mind  all  prejudices,  all  preconceived  notions,  all 
forms  of  self-assertion.  Let  them  impress  me,  each 
in  its  own  way  and  to  its  own  end.  Let  them 
awaken  in  me  the  sense  of  beauty,  stir  my  fancy,  fill 
me  with  some  emotion,  reveal  some  truth,  produce 
what  impression  they  can.  Willing  as  I  am,  they 
should  certainly  justify  their  being  in  some  way.  Is 
it  I  that  am  cold  and  insensible,  or  the  paintings 
that  are  meaningless?  There  must  be  something 
more  than  willingness,  doubtless,  to  understand  a 
painting ;  knowledge,  perhaps,  is  necessary  in  order 
that  one  may  understand  what  the  painter  means, 
and  thus  derive  right  impressions.  Knowledge,  in 
disputably,  is  necessary  in  order  to  comprehend  how 
effects  are  produced,  but  why  should  it  be  neces 
sary  simply  to  feel  effects  ?  How  much  knowledge 
is  necessary  to  appreciate  the  splendor  of  a  sunset  ? 
How  much  to  feel  the  beauty  of  the  sky,  or  of  a 
rose  ?  Yen*  likely  cultivation  has  done  something 
for  us  in  developing  susceptibility  to  the  beauties 


204  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

of  Nature,  but  there  is  no  class  excluded  from  her. 
Every  person  with  a  little  native  imagination  de 
lights  in  the  colors  and  forms  that  she  produces  on 
her  grand  canvases.  If  it  needs  no  inculcation  in 
subtile  mysteries  to  see  the  beauties  of  Nature,  why 
does  it  in  art  ?  If  I  have  susceptibility  in  the  gal 
leries  of  the  forests,  and  thus  fall  under  the  influ 
ence  of  glancing  lights  and  mellowed  vistas,  assured 
ly  the  beauties  that  the  painters  reproduce  ought  to 
influence  me  also.  It  requires  knowledge  to  read 
accurately  and  freely  all  that  a  painter  puts  in  his 
painting,  but,  if  he  has  unmistakably  expressed  true 
beauty  there,  very  few  are  incapable  of  seeing  it 
and  feeling  it  in  some  degree.  There  must  be  re 
sponse  in  him  that  looks,  but  there  must  be  force  in 
him  that  produces.  If  after  I  have  surrendered  my 
self  fully  to  a  painting,  and  it  fails  to  awaken  sen 
sations,  then  I  may  inquire  why — and  here  criticism 
legitimately  steps  in.  If  the  artist  has  ideas,  let  us 
accept  them,  whether  we  quite  agree  with  them  or 
not,  and  be  silent ;  if  he  has  not  ideas,  then  we  are 
masters,  not  he,  and  may  demand  an  account." 


XIII. 

MR.    BLUFF    ON    MELANCHOLY. 
(On  a  YacAt,  on  a  MocnUt  Ev€*iMg.) 

MIRANDA, 
BACHELOR  BLUFF. 
OSCAR. 

"  I  LOVE  moonlight,"  said  Miranda,  "  and  espe 
cially  moonlight  on  the  water — it  is  so  melancholy 
and  sweet." 

"  And  you  like,  no  doubt,"  said  Mr.  Bluff,  a  little 
sarcastically,  "  melancholy  music,  to  make  all  in 
keeping.  I  dare  say  you  are  fond  of  imagining 
yourself  Jessica,  sitting  with  Lorenzo  and  listen 
ing  to  his  soft  murmur  about  the  moonlight  sleeping 
upon  the  bank,  and  the  sounds  of  music,  and  touch 
es  of  sweet  harmony,  etc.  You  could,  I  am  sure, 
repeat  the  whole  passage  now,  if  put  to  it." 

"  What  sentimental  young  lady  could  not  ?  "  re 
marked  Oscar,  as  he  touched  lightly  with  his  finger 
the  ashes  on  his  cigar. 

"  Or  sentimental  young  gentleman,"  retorted  Mi- 


2o6  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

randa.  "  Were  there  ever  lovers  that  did  not  read 
that  passage  together  ?  I  believe  I  can  count  a 
dozen  melancholy  young  gentlemen  who,  in  moon 
light  walks  or  sails,  have  whispered  in  my  ear,  *  How 
sweet  the  moonlight  sleeps  upon  this  bank  !  '  " 

"  It  is  a  very  pretty  piece  of  poetry,"  said  Mr. 
Bluff,  "  and  Shakespeare  then  was  in  his  best  poeti 
cal  mood.  But  I  am  not  fond  of  moonlight,  or  of 
melancholy  in  any  of  its  forms  Give  me  the  splen 
dor  of  the  sun,  and  Nature  when  she  is  joyous." 

"  I  thought,"  replied  Miranda,  "  that  all  old 
bachelors  are  melancholy.  I  should  say  it  would  be 
natural  to  them." 

"  It  is  very  perverse  and  wrong-headed  in  me, 
no  doubt,  not  to  be  sad  and  melancholy,"  said  Mr. 
Bluff.  "  It  is  rather  a  reflection  on  your  sex,  I  con 
fess,  who  are  disposed  to  believe  that  all  old  bache 
lors  must  inevitably  be  unhappy.  I  think  myself 
that  it  is  very  ungrateful  for  us  to  persist  in  be 
ing  happy  when  so  many  lovely  women  are  anxious 
to  be  the  source  of  our  bliss." 

"  If  lovely  women,"  remarked  Oscar,  who  was 
gazing  abstractedly  at  the  moon,  "  have  the  power 
to  expel  melancholy,  their  services  are  likely  in  the 
future  to  be  greatly  esteemed.  The  world,  you  know, 
is  declared  to  be  growing  melancholy.  Over-civ 
ilization  is  making  the  educated  classes  everywhere 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  MELANCHOLY.  207 

despondent  and  sad.  Why  should  it  do  so,  I  won 
der  ?  " 

"  Is  it  true,"  asked  Mr.  Bluff,  "  that  over-civiliza 
tion  is  the  cause  ?  Would  wise  and  worthy  civili 
zation — civilization  of  the  right  kind  and  character 
— increase  the  melancholy  of  the  world  ?  " 

"  One  can  not  easily  say  what  different  condi 
tions  would  bring  about,"  replied  Oscar,  "  but  civ 
ilization  such  as  exists  seems  to  be  producing  great 
weariness  of  life.  It  is  a  disease  eating  into  the 
heart  of  society.  It  is  intense  in  Russia,  where  a 
dreamy  melancholy  is  described  by  native  writers  as 
one  of  the  features  of  cultured  circles ;  and  a  similar 
melancholy  is  said  to  be  spreading  over  England. 
Some  of  the  magazines  are  making  it  a  theme  for 
discussion,  and  the  poets  have  fallen  into  the  vein." 

"  Poets  and  romancists,"  said  Mr.  Bluff,  "  have 
always  been  rather  disposed  to  take  despairing  views 
of  things  ;  and  melancholy,  you  know,  has  been 
sometimes  cultivated  as  a  fashion.  Young  Arthur 
in  *  King  John  '  exclaims  : 

"  ' .  .  .  when  I  was  in  France, 
Young  gentlemen  would  be  as  sad  as  night, 
Only  for  wantonness.' 

This  sort  of  affectation,  however,  is  as  old  as  hu 
man  nature.  Then  there  is  the  whimsical  egotism 


208  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

and  selfish  bitterness  of  the  Jaques  type,  a  melan 
choly  not  unlike  that  the  poets  affect,  and  which 
has  been  well  characterized  as  '  Wertherism.'  Then 
there  is  the  moonlight  melancholy  which  young  la 
dies  affect." 

"  We  do  not  affect,"  exclaimed  Miranda,  with 
spirit,  "  we  really  feel  it.  I  believe  that  all  people 
with  poetry  and  tenderness  in  their  nature  are  sub 
ject  to  melancholy  moods ;  of  course,  tough  old 
bachelors  are  notoriously  without  either  of  those 
qualities." 

"  Then,  young  lady,  we  are  just  the  physicians  to 
prescribe  for  the  complaint." 

"  It  is  not  a  complaint — it  is  a  poetic  ecstasy." 

"  Melancholy  ecstasies  of  the  young-lady  kind 
are  not  going  to  do  much  harm.  But  there  is  a 
spirit  of  melancholy  abroad,  as  Oscar  says,  which 
needs  sharp  treatment  in  order  to  effect  a  cure. 
There  are  many  persons  who  suffer  from  a  constitu 
tional  tendency  to  melancholy,  but  the  people  who 
write  about  it,  who  burst  into  pathetic  rhymes,  who 
go  about  mooning  over  the  sadness  and  misery  of 
life,  are  a  set  of  idle  and  egotistic  dreamers  who 
either  cultivate  melancholy  as  a  supposed  sign  of 
poetic  genius,  or  who  are  oppressed  with  ennui  from 
pure  idleness,  or  whose  melancholy  is  simply  a  reac 
tion  from  dissipation.  All  such  fellows  should  be 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  MELANCHOLY.  209 

well  whipped  to  some  honest,  wholesome  task.  A 
few  earnest  things  to  do,  a  little  subordination  of 
their  diseased  self-love,  some  small  control  over  their 
appetites,  would  send  their  affectations  and  their 
whims  to  the  winds." 

"  Still,  sir,"  replied  Oscar,  "  I  must  think  there  is 
a  great  deal  of  genuine  sadness  in  the  world." 

"  You  are  right,"  replied  Mr.  Bluff.  "  But  is 
this  sadness  increased  by  culture  and  intellectual 
development  ?  Has  the  world  grown  graver  because 
it  has  grown  wiser?" 

"  There  is  more  meditation  and  study,  a  higher 
ideal  of  life,  a  greater  mental  strain,  and  these 
things  have  combined  to  produce  a  peculiar  schol 
arly  melancholy.  Years  ago  Emerson  found  in  Eng 
land  numbers  of  what  he  called  '  silent  Greeks,' 
men  whose  fastidious  culture  shrank  from  the  col 
lisions  and  contests  of  life,  whose  over  -  fastidious 
ness  had  paralyzed  impulse  and  ambition,  who  ad 
mired  nothing  and  sought  for  nothing,  because 
nothing  could  come  up  to  the  level  of  their  high 
ideals." 

"  Still,  is  it  true  that  sadness  is  specially  the 
product  of  culture  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Bluff.  "  You  have 
seen,  of  course,  Millet's  pictures  of  French  rustics. 
They  are  the  very  incarnation  of  melancholy.  What 
a  picture  of  sullen  gloom  is  that  of  his  '  Sower  ' — a 


210  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

life  without  hope,  without  light,  bound  for  ever  to 
the  wheel  of  dreary  task  !  And  yet  this  is  an  out- 
of-door  laborer.  We  might  expect  melancholy  to 
grow  up  in  the  shop  amid  the  ceaseless  din  of 
machinery,  but  in  primitive,  picturesque  labor  why 
should  there  not  abound  the  old  joyousness  ?  There 
is  less  oppression  and  injustice  now  :  the  laborer  is 
protected  ;  the  fruits  of  his  fields  are  garnered  for 
himself,  instead  of  for  priest,  king,  or  robber  baron ; 
and  yet,  if  we  may  believe  the  painter,  an  intense 
gloom  rests  upon  him.  Can  it  be  that,  suffering 
less  than  his  ancestors,  he  yet  embodies  the  accu 
mulations  of  sorrow  and  despair  that  have  been 
borne  by  his  race  ?  Or  is  it  that,  while  still  as 
lowly  as  his  progenitors,  he  has  caught  visions  of 
higher  and  better  things,  that  time  has  taught  him 
to  think  and  compare,  to  discover  all  that  is  with 
held  from  him,  to  see  in  himself  the  perpetual  drudge 
kept  for  ever  in  the  dust  by  the  unjust  discrimina 
tions  of  life?  The  English  rustic,  also,  has  ceased 
to  be  the  merry  fellow  he  was  once  —  foregone  all 
his  old  sports  and  pastimes,  without  really  gaining 
compensation  in  education  ;  but,  having  in  a  rude 
way  learned  to  think,  he  has  come  into  the  posses 
sion  of  discontent  and  distrust.  It  is  no  wonder 
that  gloom  should  be  the  heritage  of  drudges  of 
the  fields  and  victims  of  tasteless  labor;  but  a  won- 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  MELANCHOLY.  2ll 

der,  indeed,  that  education  should  bring  a  mildew 
upon  the  heart  and  brain  of  people  who  have  all 
the  world  before  them  to  choose  from  and  enjoy. 
Can  you  explain  this  ?  " 

"  I  confess  that  I  can  not." 

"  If  it  is  true,"  continued  Mr.  Bluff,  "  it  is  be 
cause  education  is  wrong  in  its  methods  and  ob 
jects.  It  would  be  different,  I  suspect,  if  Nature 
were  studied  more  and  the  artificial  sentiments  of 
the  poets  and  romancists  less.  Melancholy  often 
comes  of  brooding  and  introspection,  and  hence  if 
men  were  to  look  abroad  rather  than  within,  to 
open  their  eyes  and  hearts  to  the  beauties  and  won 
ders  of  meadows  and  woods,  of  sky  and  sea,  their 
despondency  would  be  effectually  exorcised.  It  is 
not  knowledge  simply,  but  kinds  of  knowledge,  that 
bring  gloom  and  sadness.  I  have  not  discovered 
that  philosophers,  historians,  poets,  naturalists,  men 
of  science,  or  men  of  intellectual  out-of-door  pur 
suits,  have  any  special  tendency  to  melancholy.  In 
deed,  the  great  lights  in  all  literature  for  the  most 
part  have  been  men  of  serene  and  happy  natures. 
If  Dante  and  Cowper  and  Dr.  Johnson  were  melan 
choly  men,  Shakespeare  and  Goethe  and  Scott  and 
a  vast  number  of  others,  eminent  in  all  branches  of 
letters,  were  not.  Every  form  of  healthful  mental 
occupation  brings  to  the  mind  joy  rather  than  gloom 


212  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

or  sorrow ;  and  melancholy,  excepting  for  the  mo 
ment  all  who  are  constitutionally  afflicted  with  it,  so 
far  as  it  is  the  product  at  all  of  intellectualism,  is 
the  result  of  unhealthful  forms  of  it.  Every  strain 
upon  the  emotions  produces  a  morbid  reaction ;  and 
this  is  why  certain  poets  and  all  writers  who  force 
themselves  into  ecstasies  of  feeling  suffer  when  the 
mental  intoxication  is  over.  Severe  occupations  that 
employ  but  do  not  excite  the  mind  —  whether  low 
or  high  in  degree — leave  no  taint  of  melancholy  be 
hind.  It  is  not  those  persons  who  think  most,  nor 
those  who  are  most  keenly  alive  to  the  sorrows  and 
misfortunes  that  befall  mankind,  that  are  overcome 
by  sadness,  but  commonly  the  minds  that  work  upon 
their  sensibilities  and  feelings,  that  cultivate  melan 
choly  by  the  emotions.  No  doubt  all  such  persons 
have  at  the  beginning  a  tendency  to  melancholy, 
but,  instead  of  cultivating  cheerfulness,  they  have 
cultivated  disease." 

"  They  have  simply,  Mr.  Bluff,"  interrupted  Mi 
randa,  "obeyed  the  impulses  of  their  hearts.  I  do 
not  wonder  that  poets  and  men  of  genius  are  melan 
choly,  for  their  exquisite  perceptions,  their  refined 
culture,  must  make  them  weary  of  the  common 
things  of  life." 

"  Culture,  excellent  young  lady,  ought  to  chasten 
and  enrich  our  whole  being,  filling  us  with  Matthew 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  MELANCHOLY. 


213 


Arnold's  'sweetness  and  light.'  Is  it  not  odd,  now, 
that  one  prophet  should  be  preaching  this  benefi 
cence  as  the  outcome  of  the  right  use  of  the  mind, 
while  others  are  deploring  the  gloom  that  intellect- 
ualism  is  casting  over  the  world  ?  But,  in  fact,  is  it 
intellectualism  ?  Are  we  not  giving  that  name  to 
emotional  unrest,  self-consciousness,  and  feverish  de 
sire  ?  True  intellectualism  broadens,  enlarges,  ex 
alts  ;  all  great,  honest,  healthful  mental  training  and 
development  can  do  no  one  harm." 

"  But  you  speak,"  said  Oscar,  "  of  Dr.  Johnson's 
melancholy,  whose  mental  occupations  were  certainly 
of  a  robust  and  healthful  character." 

"  I  excepted  those  who  are  constitutionally  af 
flicted  with  melancholy." 

"  But  are  not  all  people  suffering  under  habitual 
depression  of  mind  simply  victims  to  a  constitu 
tional  disorder  ?  In  its  extreme  phase  melancholy 
becomes  a  form  of  insanity,  and  one  which  physi 
cians  set  down  as  among  the  most  obstinate  and 
difficult  of  cure." 

"  I  believe,"  replied  Mr.  Bluff,  "  that  with  all 
truly  healthful  persons — healthful  in  mind  as  well 
as  in  body — joyousness  is  the  natural,  spontaneous, 
inevitable  expression  of  their  being.  To  breathe,  to 
move,  to  live,  are  in  themselves  pleasure  and  hap 
piness  with  all  well  organized  persons.  There  may 


214  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

be  trials,  sorrows,  sufferings,  misfortunes,  even  bitter 
experiences ;  but,  so  long  as  a  healthful  balance  is 
maintained  throughout  the  being,  the  spirit  rebounds 
from  these  sufferings,  and  begins  to  weave  hopeful 
promises  for  the  future.  No  outward  circumstance 
determines  the  cheerfulness  or  the  sadness  of  men 
— the  rich  may  be  sad  and  the  poor  cheerful,  the 
fortunate  may  be  gloomy  and  the  unfortunate  full 
of  hope,  the  sick  may  be  full  of  the  spirit  of  joy 
and  the  strong  wrapped  up  in  morbid  gloom.  I 
have  heard  stalwart  fellows  deploring  in  lachrymose 
strains  the  misery  of  life  in  the  very  presence  of 
confirmed  invalids  whose  cheerfulness  shed  radiance 
upon  all  within  their  circle.  Some  persons  are  vic 
tims  of  dyspepsia,  the  most  joy-killing  of  all  ail 
ments  ;  some  are  victims  of  diseases  that  cast  shadows 
upon  the  soul ;  some  are  cursed  with  a  constitutional 
inclination  to  sadness.  The  causes  are  various,  but 
every  case  of  melancholy  is  the  product  of  some 
defect  in  the  organization.  Melancholy  is  the  sign 
of  disease,  and  a  capacity  for  cheerfulness  hence 
is  nothing  more  than  supreme  good  health — good 
health  of  mind  even  more  than  of  body.  As  a 
disease,  then,  it  should  be  treated,  and  every  effort 
made  to  cast  it  out,  just  as  is  made  with  other 
forms  of  sickness ;  very  much,  indeed,  can  be  done 
to  eradicate  it  when  there  is  a  will  to  do  so. 


MR.  BLUFF  ON  MELANCHOLY. 


215 


Cheerfulness  ought  to  be  placed  among  the  cardinal 
virtues,  and  its  cultivation  made  incumbent  upon 
every  one  as  a  duty." 

"  I  like  cheerfulness  well  enough,"  pouted  Mi 
randa  ;  "  but,  if  you  are  going  to  make  it  a  duty, 
then  I  shall  not  like  it.  Duties  are  never  agreeable ; 
it  is  only  when  things  are  pleasures  that  one  cares 
for  them." 

"  But  why  has  melancholy  increased  ?  "  asked 
Oscar.  "Admitting  all  you  say  to  be  true,  it  does 
not  explain  why  sadness  should  be  affecting  the 
race  in  the  way  it  does." 

"  It  is  due  to  the  increase  of  sedentary  habits 
and  the  low  order  of  physical  health  that  has  come 
therefrom ;  to  indigestion  and  other  diseases  that 
come  from  neglect  of  exercise ;  and  additionally  to 
a  fondness  for  introspective,  subjective  study  of  pas 
sions,  and  to  the  general  hot-house  atmosphere  of 
our  emotional  literature,  to  which  I  referred  before. 
I  half  suspect,  however,  that  dyspepsia  is  the  most 
active  cause— or,  rather,  dyspepsia  comes  from  the 
other  causes,  and  melancholy  from  it.  Nothing  so 
clouds  the  mind  and  affects  the  spirits  as  this  dis 
order.  Only  recently  I  heard  of  an  instance  of  one 
who  had  been  for  many  years  a  victim  to  dyspep 
sia,  and  suffered  in  consequence  from  the  gloom 
and  depression  that  accompanied  it.  But  the  time 


BACHELOR  BLUFF. 


came  when  this  iHm*<?g  passed  o££  and  eventuallv  he 
became  a  sunerer  from  gout.  But  great  was  the 
change.  His  spirits  rose  with  the  pain ;  his  cheer 
fulness  became  proverbial" 

"Most  I  get  die  goat,  sir,"  asked  Oscar,  "in 
aider  to  be  rid  of  melancholy  ?  " 

"Good,  sharp  suffering  would  core  you,  I  am 
sure;  or  any  severe  duty,  or  high  purpose,  or  great 
responsibility.  Even  men  constitutionally  disposed 
to  melancholy  are  likely  to  be  cured  by  some  form 
of  heroic  treatment.  In  one  way  or  another  get  a 
cheerful  habit  of  mind,  and  one  good  thing  to  this 
end  is  a  cheerful  and  robust  literature.  Matthew  Ar 
nold  tefls  us  of  the  extraordinary  power  with  which 
Wordsworth  feels  the  joy  offered  to  us  in  nature,  and 
fhf  Joy  offered  to  us  in  the  simple  elementary  affec 
tions  and  duties.  Here  is  a  supreme  test  of  the 
worth  of  all  poetry,  of  all  literature  of  the  imagina 
tion,  and  of  all  art.  There  is  really  no  reason  for 
the  e™tf*r+  of  anything  within  the  scope  desig 
nated  that  does  not  fin  the  heart  with  joy,  that  does 
not  counteract  the  whole  array  of  evils  that  make 
melancholy.  I  do  not  hesitate  to  make  this  asser 
tion,  hard  and  uncompromising  as  it  may  seem. 
Carried  into  effect,  such  an  edict  would  sweep  out 
of  existence  some  very  beautiful  fables,  no  doubt, 
bat,  as  our  sympathy  for  the  sad  fate  of  the  Lean- 


J/K.  BLUFF  Olf  MELAXCBOLY.  2  :  ' 

ders  and  Romeos  of  story  is  really  born  of  our  pre 
vious  joy  in  their  being,  we  need  not  deprive  the 
world  of  imagination  of  these  pathetic  legends.  Bat 
romance  and  poetry  and  art  that  do  not  awaken  in 
us  thrills  of  pleasure,  that  do  not  deepen  our  de 
light  in  the  world  and  in  mankind,  that  do  not  af 
ford  us  sweet  morsels  for  meditation  and  appropria 
tion,  should  be  shut  out  from  the  light  altogether 
— thrust  back  into  the  domains  of  darkness  and  un- 
healthful  passion  whence  they  came.  What  other 
possible  mission  should  poetry  and  the  arts  have 
than  to  increase  the  happiness  of  mankind  ?  If 
they  fail  to  do  this,  if  they  cause  unrest  rather  than 
rest,  pain  rather  than  delight,  disease  rather  than 
health,  they  are  simply  an  enemy  of  the  race.  I  re 
alize  very  well  the  sweetness  of  a  sad  strain  in  mu 
sic  and  the  righteous  sympathy  that  sorrow  awakens ; 
these  are  things  that  soften  and  subdue  our  giossci 
passions  and  fill  up  the  measure  of  our  being,  but 
they  are  quite  different  from  the  gloom  in  which 
melancholy  people  are  enshrouded,  which  is  com 
monly  selfish  rather  than  sympathetic,  full  of  bitter 
ness  rather  than  sweetness.  But,  however  this  may 
be,  inasmuch  as  happiness  is  the  legitimate  end  of 
existence,  the  sole  thing  that  makes  it  desirable  or 
endurable,  the  worth  of  everything  is  determinable 
by  its  contribution  to  this  end.  and  by  this  test  alone 
10 


2i8  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

should  knowledge,  progress,  culture,  literature,  art,  be 
measured." 

"  Well,"  muttered  Miranda,  as  she  wrapped  her 
self  closely  in  a  shawl,  and  turned  her  eyes  to  the 
moon,  "  the  sermon  has  been  a  long  one.  All  the 
same,  I  like  melancholy  poetry,  and  melancholy  mu 
sic,  and  melancholy  moonlight." 


XIV. 


MR.   BLUFF   ON    MORALS   IN   LITERATURE 
AND    NUDITY   IN   ART. 

(Over   Wine  and  Walnuts.} 

BACHELOR  BLUFF, 
MR.  QUIVER. 

Quiver  (poet,  novelist,  essayist,  translator  of  Baude 
laire,  and  disciple  of  Swinburne).  We  claim  for  our  art, 
sir,  the  privilege  of  covering  the  whole  field  of  hu 
man  thought,  feeling,  and  experience.  No  literature, 
sir,  is  a  great  literature  that  does  not  sound  the 
depths  of  woe  and  reach  the  heights  of  ecstasy — that 
does  not  reflect  human  sufferings  and  express  human 
aspirations,  and  embody  all  that  men  and  women  feel 
and  enjoy,  endure  and  hope.  The  exclusion  of  pas 
sions  because  they  are  wrong  passions,  or  of  acts  be 
cause  they  are  criminal  acts,  is  simply  to  emasculate 
literature. 

Bluff  (energetically).  That  is  to  say,  that  while  in 
life  and  society,  and  in  all  forms  of  intercourse  be 
tween  men,  some  things  are  forbidden,  literature  is 


220  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

privileged  to  descant  upon  everything  and  uncover 
everything — that  it  has  no  sacred  reserves,  that  it  is 
bound  by  no  discrimination  between  clean  and  un 
clean,  that  it  is  just  as  much  its  province  to  excite 
wrong  as  it  is  to  stimulate  rightful  emotions. 

Quiver.  The  only  morals,  sir,  that  art  is  concerned 
with  is  fidelity  to  one's  own  perceptions,  and  faith 
fulness  to  artistic  truth.  This  form  of  morality  we 
enforce.  The  worker  who  surrenders  his  convictions 
to  popular  clamor,  or  who  descends  from  a  pure  art- 
ideal  to  an  inferior  standard  in  order  to  win  the  ap 
preciation  of  the  multitude,  is,  in  our  judgment,  im 
moral.  It  is  wholly  a  question  of  fidelity  to  what 
one  feels  and  sees. 

Bluff.  It  is  supremely,  sir,  a  question  of  good  to 
mankind.  Artists  and  poets  must  be  honest,  but 
there  is  nothing  to  prevent  them  from  being  also 
discreet ;  and  it  is  not  a  law  of  honesty  that  every 
thing  must  be  said.  Art  has  the  whole  broad  field 
of  life  and  nature  before  it,  but  its  duty  in  this  wide 
area  is  to  select.  The  question  of  morals  may  be  so 
far  eliminated  that  beauty  may  be  the  exclusive  aim 
of  art ;  its  purpose  may  be  rightfully  limited  to  the 
production  of  pleasurable  sensations.  It  is  true  that 
a  well-painted  landscape,  or  a  piece  of  elevated,  har 
monious  verse,  or  a  fine  statue,  or  a  noble  piece  of 
architecture,  has  each  that  subtile  morality  which  all 


MORALS  IN  LITERATURE,  ETC.  221 

things  possess  that  lift  up  the  imagination  and  fill  us 
with  the  sense  of  beauty.  But  all  these  things  are 
without  distinct  ethical  purpose,  and  art  generally 
may  be  similarly  freed  from  any  primary  necessity  of 
morals — that  is,  it  may  be  wholly  aesthetic  in  its  in 
spiration  and  in  its  aim.  But  it  is  not  privileged, 
sir,  on  the  other  hand,  to  be  rwmoral,  directly  or  by 
implication.  Its  business  is  to  select,  to  discover 
and  portray  the  beautiful,  the  elevated,  the  ennobling, 
the  pleasurable ;  to  stir  the  emotions  of  pity  and 
sympathy,  to  excite  admiration  and  emulation,  to  en 
large  the  boundary  of  experience  and  sensation ;  but 
it  is  not  its  function  to  deal  with  the  repulsive  and 
horrible,  to  act  upon  morbid  and  unhealthful  pas 
sions,  to  excite  contempt  for  sacred  or  rightful  things, 
to  appeal  to  gross  or  sensual  appetites,  to  deal  with 
the  foul  and  diseased  things  of  life.  However  stren 
uous  an  upholder  of  the  largeness  and  freedom  of 
art  you  may  be,  you  must  see  that  it  is  under  obli 
gation  to  select,  to  exclude,  to  separate  the  fit  from 
the  unfit. 

Quiver.  Yes  ;  but  wholly  on  artistic  grounds. 
There  are  limitations  and  reserves,  but  the  artist, 
and  not  the  moralist,  knows  accurately  what  these 
are.  The  artist  excludes  the  gross,  the  barbaric,  the 
crude,  and  the  physically  repulsive ;  but  everything 
that  takes  place  in  the  heart  of  man  is  his.  One 


222  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

difficulty  which  we  encounter  in  this  country  is  the 
notion  that  literature  should  not  treat  of  subjects  of 
which  the  young  and  innocent  should  be  kept  in 
ignorance.  This  is  absurd.  Books  are  written  for 
men  and  women,  and  not  for  green  boys  and  girls. 
The  American  public  in  this  matter  is  as  feeble  and 
squeamish  as  a  prudish  old  maid. 

Bluff.  The  American  public,  sir,  is,  in  fact,  the 
least  squeamish  public  of  any. 

Quiver.  You  astonish  me  when  you  say  that ! 

Bluff.  Nevertheless  it  is  true,  and  I  will  prove  it. 
The  example  of  France  is  constantly  held  up  by  your 
school,  where  pictorial  art  is  pagan  in  its  devotion 
to  the  nude,  and  literature  wholly  free  in  the  selec 
tion  of  its  themes  and  in  its  treatment  of  them. 
And  yet  the  French  public  in  one  way  is  very 
squeamish :  it  permits  its  authors  to  touch  upon 
every  subject,  but  then  it  banishes  their  writings 
out-of-doors.  The  novel  there,  for  instance,  scarcely 
enters  respectable  families  at  all ;  no  young  girl  is 
permitted  access  to  it,  and  even  elders  in  the  more 
serious  classes  will  not  touch  it.  It  is  the  same 
with  the  theatre,  from  which  young  women  particu 
larly  are  excluded  on  account  of  the  themes  taken 
up  by  the  dramatists.  In  France  a  young  woman 
is  watched  over  at  every  step ;  not  a  book  is  placed 
in  her  hands  that  is  not  first  examined  ;  not  a  soul 


MORALS  IN  LITERATURE,  ETC.  223 

is  permitted  to  breathe  a  word  in  her  ear  upon 
any  topic  without  the  knowledge  of  her  guardians. 
She  knows  neither  literature,  nor  art,  nor  the  world  ; 
she  is  educated  under  the  most  exacting  and  watch 
ful  "  squeamishness  "  possible.  With  us,  on  the  con 
trary,  the  novel,  and  the  magazines  with  their  many 
stories,  enter  every  house,  they  lie  on  every  cen 
ter-table,  they  are  as  accessible  to  the  girl  of  six 
teen  as  to  the  man  of  sixty,  and  the  majority  of 
their  readers  is  composed  of  the  female  sex.  We 
throw  open  our  libraries  to  every  class ;  we  teach 
our  children  to  be  readers ;  we  cover  our  library- 
tables  in  confidence  with  the  fresh  issues  from  the 
press,  and  we  discuss  freely  with  our  wives,  sons,  and 
daughters,  the  qualities  of  new  novels  and  new  po 
ems.  What  has  followed  is  just  what  any  wise  man 
would  have  predicted  ;  for,  whenever  and  wherever 
women  become  readers,  license  of  speech  and  many 
themes  are  driven  out  of  literature.  The  French 
have  as  keen  a  sense  of  the  moral  and  immoral  as 
any  people  in  the  world,  but  they  have  an  extraor 
dinary  notion  that  ignorance  and  innocence  go  to 
gether,  and  that  as  soon  as  one  has  learned  the  nat 
ure  of  vice  he  may  be  permitted  to  indulge  in  his 
salacious  tastes  at  pleasure.  The  application  of  this 
theory  to  women  —  that  matrons  being  no  longer 
ignorant  have  lost  the  instincts  of  innocence  and 


224  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

modesty — is  horrible.  But  to  go  back,  sir — is  not 
the  American  squeamishness  which  insists  that  liter 
ature  shall  be  pure  and  accessible  to  young  and  old 
alike,  far  more  rational,  not  to  say  honorable,  than 
that  French  squeamishness  which  permits  great  li 
cense  to  its  writers,  and  then  reads  their  produc 
tions  in  secret  ?  This  is  a  confession  that  there  are 
subjects  forbidden  to  art — and  this  is  all  American 
squeamishness  affirms. 

Quiver.  But  do  not  things  become  proper  or  im 
proper  according  to  conditions  ?  There  are  passions 
which  the  young  should  not  surmise,  but  of  which 
the  mature  can  not  be  ignorant. 

Bluff.  Why  should  the  mature,  tell  me,  inflame 
their  imaginations  by  pictures  of  these  passions  ? 
Literature,  sir,  would  be  far  more  sweet  and  whole 
some  if  the  darker  passions  of  our  kind  were  alto 
gether  eliminated  from  it.  Those  productions,  sir, 
are  best  in  every  sense  which  lead  us  away  from 
the  heated  atmosphere  of  the  emotions ;  that  either 
fill  us  with  high  ideas  and  lofty  principles,  or  cheer 
us  by  gay  and  enlivening  pictures  of  life.  And 
specially  the  whole  range  of  passions  and  incidents 
growing  out  of  improper  or  illicit  love  is  unclean, 
and  has  no  rightful  place  in  literature. 

Quiver.  But  these  passions  are  the  most  power 
ful  of  all  the  passions,  and  they  afford  some  of  the 


MORALS  IN  LITERATURE,  ETC. 


225 


most  thrilling  opportunities  for  an  artist's  purpose. 
The  French  dramatists,  for  instance,  believe  that  the 
heart  which  yields  to  temptation  and  which  strug 
gles  to  recover  its  social  place  by  reform  and  ex 
emplary  conduct  appeals  to  human  sympathy  with 
an  intensity  unequaled  by  any  other  situation.  Or 
dinary  crimes  can  not  supply  the  conditions  needed 
for  the  dramatist's  deep  purpose.  The  offense  must 
be  one  which  society  declares  to  be  unpardonable. 
It  must  be  one  that  has  arrayed  against  it  the  tradi 
tions  and  instincts  and  prestiges  of  the  world.  There 
can  be  no  great  situation  of  this  kind  if  the  crime 
be  of  a  venial  character.  The  dramatist,  therefore, 
seizes  upon  a  woman  who  has  sinned  vilely,  and 
then  essays  to  show  that  profound  and  sustained 
repentance  must  win  and  does  win  the  sympathy 
even  of  those  who  have  proclaimed  the  moral  degra 
dation  of  the  offense.  It  is  a  conflict  between  the 
stern  justice  of  society  and  the  merciful  sympathies 
of  the  individual  that  gives  to  the  condemned  French 
dramas  their  great  hold  upon  the  public  mind.  It 
is  this  conflict,  with  its  vivid  contrasts,  its  effective 
combinations  of  mingled  impulses  and  feelings,  that 
takes  such  a  deep  hold  upon  the  dramatic  instincts 
of  the  French  playwriters,  and  gives  to  their  vivid 
invention  characters  and  stories  so  eminently  sus 
ceptible  of  intense  human  passion.  It  is  a  bold 


226  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

but  not  an  immoral  grasp  of  conditions  veined 
through  and  through  with  tragic  possibilities.  It 
is  the  distinct  assertion  that  an  art  dealing  with 
the  human  heart  must  not  be  excluded  from  a  do 
main  that  includes  affection,  and  passion,  and  re 
morse,  and  struggle,  and  woe,  and  hope,  in  their 
widest  reach  and  deepest  power. 

Bluff.  I  can  conceive  of  such  a  struggle  as  this 
so  presented  as  to  meet  nearly  all  the  requirements 
of  the  purists.  Much  depends,  however,  upon  the 
fact  whether  vices  are  treated  really  as  vices,  and 
sins  as  sins,  and  not  so  glozed  over  as  to  look  half 
like  virtues.  Let  the  sympathies  be  unmistakably 
for  the  sinner  and  not  for  the  sin.  But  while 
plays  and  books  of  this  kind  may  possibly  be  con 
doned,  they  do  not  make  great  literature  ;  they  do 
not  exalt,  they  do  not  refine,  they  do  not  enrich 
and  sweeten,  and  make  happy,  the  heart  of  the  world. 
They  are  simply  intellectual  stimulants — and  it  is 
because  they  inflame  and  excite,  because  they  enlist 
the  passions  and  emotions  in  full  force,  that  their 
hold  upon  the  multitude  is  so  great.  If  any  pos 
sible  result  can  come  of  them  it  must  be  in  their 
influence  as  deterrents,  and  this  is  not  an  artistic 
but  a  moral  function — the  very  thing  you  denounce. 
For  my  part,  I  am  inclined  not  only  to  condemn 
the  passionate  literature  of  the  modern  French  school, 


MORALS  IN  LITERATURE,  ETC.  227 

but  much  more  besides,  even  among  the  world's 
classics.  What  end  is  served  in  any  sense,  moral 
or  artistic,  by  the  jealous  furies  of  Othello  or  the 
bloody  plottings  of  Macbeth?  The  mental  tribula 
tions  of  Hamlet  enlist  our  sympathies  and  afford 
matter  for  intellectual  study,  but  how  much  finer 
and  worthier  the  story  would  be  were  there  a  little 
less  killing !  I  do  not  object  to  tragic  emotions 
when  associated  with  high  purpose  or  righteous  hu 
man  feeling.  The  maternal  sufferings  of  Constance 
profoundly  move  the  sympathies  and  warm  the  heart, 
but  what  are  the  sensations  excited  by  the  remorse 
and  agony  of  Phaedre  ?  We  hear  a  great  deal  about 
art  for  art's  sake,  and  sometimes  there  is  art  which 
delights  us  simply  as  art ;  but  the  moment  you  touch 
human  passion  art  becomes  a  vehicle  only — it  ceases 
to  be  its  own  end ;  it  influences  character  and  con 
duct,  and  hence  you  can  no  more  exclude  from  it 
questions  of  morals  than  you  can  exclude  questions 
of  air  from  considerations  of  health.  But  do  not 
think  that  I  advocate  didactic  literature.  Far  from 
it.  The  world  has  been  preached  to  enough — I  half 
suspect,  indeed,  that  excessive  sermonizing  is  the  rea 
son  why  it  is  so  wicked.  I  view  this  subject  not  from 
the  attitude  of  a  professional  moralist — one  who  would 
fain  make  all  art  and  literature  a  vehicle  for  enforcing 
moral  lessons — but  as  a  man  of  the  world  who  sees 


228  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

what  must  inevitably  be  the  influence  of  a  literature 
that  trenches  upon  dangerous  themes.  I  declare  that 
to  speak  upon  these  themes  is  to  utter  too  much ;  but 
I  concede  that  art  and  literature  are  moral  enough 
when  they  avoid  topics  that  are  in  themselves  im 
moral,  their  purpose  not  being  didactic.  But  we 
have  in  the  studios  the  same  cant  about  morals  in 
painting  and  sculpture,  especially  as  expressed  in  the 
nude,  as  we  have  from  the  fleshly  school  of  poets 
and  romancists. 

Quiver.  Do  you  condemn  the  delineation  of  the 
human  figure  ?  I  did  not  suppose  you  such  a  Phi 
listine. 

Bluff.  I  am  a  Philistine,  or  whatever  else  you 
will,  to  the  extent  of  refusing  to  be  cheated  by  rant 
and  cant.  I  claim  the  human  privilege,  sir,  of  ex 
amining  the  ground  that  theories  stand  upon.  I  re 
sent,  sir,  your  application  of  that  word  to  me.  A 
Philistine  is  one  whom  artists  and  poets  cover  with 
immense  scorn ;  but  what  is  a  Philistine  ?  Anybody 
apparently  who  does  not  assent  to  all  the  notions 
and  wild  theories  that  obtain  in  the  studios  and  in 
the  Bohemian  circles  of  the  beer-gardens.  To  take 
a  literary  view  of  art — which  means,  I  believe,  to 
judge  of  a  picture  by  its  motive  and  story  rather 
than  by  its  technique — is  to  be  a  Philistine;  to  as 
sume  that  art  and  poetry  are  not  the  highest  things 


MORALS  IN  LITERATURE,  ETC.  229 

in  life  is  to  utter  rank  Philistinism;  to  intimate 
that  morality  should  be  a  force  and  a  factor  in  art 
is  to  show  one's  self  wholly  incapable  of  discerning 
the  high  purpose  of  aesthetics,  and  as  a  consequence 
to  merit  being  cast  into  the  darkness  and  dreariness 
of  Philistinism  for  ever.  Let  me  tell  you  that  this 
word  Philistinism  has  become  rather  too  much  of  a 
bugbear.  It  is  used  in  altogether  too  arrogant  a 
fashion  by  art  and  literary  folk ;  many  people,  in 
deed,  seem  to  be  frightened  at  it,  in  a  very  vague 
and  apprehensive  way — pretty  much,  I  fancy,  as  the 
market-woman,  in  the  oft-quoted  anecdote,  burst  into 
tears  upon  being  called  an  hypotenuse.  And  in 
nothing  is  the  dictum  of  the  studios  so  arrogant  as 
in  the  question  of  nudity  in  art.  It  is  not  only 
proper,  it  is  declared,  to  depict  the  human  figure  as 
"  God  made  it,"  but  he  who  shrinks  from  displays 
of  this  kind,  who  questions  their  righteousness,  who 
believes  or  fears  that  they  do  not  exercise  a  good 
influence  upon  the  imaginations  of  impressible  peo 
ple,  isTiot  only  a  Philistine,  but  a  prurient  one ;  he  is 
a  person  whose  carnal  tendencies  have  not  been 
chastened  and  purified  in  the  high  atmosphere  of 
the  Bohemian  attic.  Now,  sir,  I  am  very  willing, 
indeed,  to  accept  the  opinion  of  the  studios  upon 
any  mere  art  question.  The  judgment  of  artists  as 
to  the  execution  of  Page's  "  Venus,"  or  Powers's 


2 3o  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

"  Greek  Slave,"  is  entitled  to  the  greatest  respect ; 
but  as  to  the  effect  upon  the  popular  imagination 
of  these  and  similar  productions  I  see  no  reason 
why  I  and  others  are  not  as  good  judges  as  pro 
fessional  men  anywhere.  And,  taking  human  nature 
as  it  is,  I  do  not  believe  that  nude  art  is  anything 
but  pernicious.  "  To  the  pure  all  things  are  pure," 
you  say ;  but  we  are  not  pure :  we  have  many  very 
powerful  passions  and  evil  tendencies ;  and  life  and 
society  must  be  so  adjusted  that  these  passions  and 
tendencies  are  not  unnecessarily  strengthened. 

Quiver.  The  nude  human  figure,  male  or  female, 
in  the  judgment  of  innumerable  conscientious  and 
excellent  persons,  is  not  only  a  fit  subject  for  art, 
but  is  the  noblest  and  most  elevating  of  all  subjects 
that  art  can  treat.  In  the  language  of  an  English 
writer,  to  say  that  "  the  crown  and  glory  of  creation 
is  an  improper  subject  for  art  is  to  accuse  the  Cre 
ator  of  obscenity." 

Bluff.  Then,  sir,  by  a  parallel  argument,  we  ac 
cuse  the  Creator  of  obscenity  when  we  cover  up  his 
handiwork  with  clothing,  and  declare  it  immodest  to 
reveal  it.  We  have  only,  sir,  to  glance  at  the  past 
of  mankind  to  see  that  in  all  ages  and  in  all  coun 
tries  the  instinct  of  every  people  has  been  to  drape 
and  conceal  the  person.  Even  the  rudest  savages 
make  some  slight  attempt  to  cover  up  their  naked- 


MORALS  IN  LITERATURE,  ETC.  231 

ness,  while  every  race  as  it  emerges  from  savagery 
indicates  its  progress  by  its  multiplication  of  apparel. 
There  is  no  state  of  nature  in  which  human  beings 
are  wholly  unconscious  of  nakedness,  animals  alone 
enjoying  this  lofty  superiority  to  evil.  That  which 
was  originally  an  instinct  has  been  strengthened  by 
custom,  until  clothes  have  become  almost  our  second 
selves.  Hawthorne,  being  much  wearied  and  even 
disgusted  with  the  excessive  nudity  in  art  everywhere 
in  Rome,  affirmed  that  in  our  developed  civilization 
we  are  fairly  born  with  our  clothes  on.  It  is  certain 
that  the  human  race,  civilized  or  half  civilized,  is 
now  known  only  in  its  habiliments.  Everywhere  men 
and  women  protect  and  conceal  their  bodies  and 
limbs,  guarding  their  persons  with  watchful  care  as 
something  sacred  to  themselves.  There  are  and  have 
been  some  modifications  of  this  principle,  but  mod 
esty  has  always  essentially  been  looked  upon  as  one 
of  the  first  of  the  virtues.  From  the  earliest  infancy 
this  principle  is  instilled  —  from  childhood  every 
rightly  trained  person  is  taught  to  respect,  to  hold 
apart,  to  veil  this  "  crown  and  glory  of  creation." 
How  is  it,  then,  that  that  which  is  so  reverently  cov 
ered  up  in  actual  life  may  be  so  fully  revealed  in 
art  ?  How  is  it  that,  if 

"  The  chariest  maiden  is  prodigal  enough 
If  she  unmask  her  beauty  to  the  moon," 


232  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

that  maiden  beauty  may  be  unmasked  in  painting 
and  sculpture  for  all  the  world  to  look  upon  with 
unconsciousness,  without  a  blush,  without  a  suspi 
cion  that  it  is  wrong? 

Quiver.  You  are  confounding  nature  and  art. 

Bluff.  They  can  not  be  separated  in  such  a  ques 
tion  as  this.  Instinct  and  education  unite  in  declar 
ing  that  if  nudity  is  inadmissible  in  life  it  must  be 
inadmissible  in  all  forms  of  imitation.  Every  mod 
est  person  looks  at  first,  I  am  convinced,  upon  nude 
art  with  shrinking  and  inward  questioning ;  and  it  is 
only  by  a  train  of  artificial  reason,  by  a  suppression 
of  instincts  and  natural  impulses,  that  he  teaches 
himself  to  think  it  permissible.  Civilization  has 
made  a  mystery  of  the  person,  whether  wisely  or 
not,  and  it  is  simply  impossible  for  art  to  uncover 
this  mystery  without  grave  consequences.  Art,  more 
over,  is  never  content  with  depicting  the  female  fig 
ure  simply  and  severely,  but  idealizes  it  on  the  side 
of  voluptuous  beauty,  enriches  it  with  every  fascina 
tion  of  line  and  tint,  carves  it  with  every  elaboration 
of  skill,  in  order  that  it  may  appeal  distinctly  to  the 
senses  and  the  emotions.  Realistic  nude  art  would 
often  be  disenchanting  enough,  but  what  nude  art  is 
there  that  is  not  purposely  made  seductive,  that  is 
not  intended  to  fascinate  and  allure  ?  It  is  asserted 
that  familiarity  with  the  human  figure  in  art  would 


MORALS  IN  LITERATURE,  ETC.  233 

deaden  sexual  impressibility  to  it ;  but  this  it  is  not 
easy  to  prove  or  deny.  Art  is  prolific  and  free 
among  certain  peoples  notoriously  inflammable ;  but, 
while  some  may  believe  that  nude  art  has  not  stim 
ulated  passion  in  these  communities,  it  is  obvious 
that  it  has  not  been  restrained  by  making  the  human 
form  familiar. 

Quiver.  In  some  form  I  admit  that  nude  art  may 
be  hurtful.  The  delineation  of  a  nude  female  fig 
ure  may  be  just  as  the  artist  proposes — either  the 
embodiment  of  innocence,  or  on  the  other  hand  sug 
gestive  in  every  feature  and  line  of  lewdness. 

Bluff.  Distinctly  lewd  statues  and  paintings,  sir, 
commonly  furnish  their  own  antidote,  for  they  excite 
nothing  but  disgust  in  the  mind  of  every  spectator 
not  hopelessly  depraved.  It  is  the  subtile  fascinations 
of  productions  not  intentionally  lewd  that  allure  and 
stimulate  the  imagination. 

Quiver.  Every  person  should  so  educate  himself 
as  not  to  be  affected  in  this  way. 

Bluff.  Here,  sir,  you  concede  the  whole  point  at 
issue :  the  man  of  the  world  schools  himself  to  look 
upon  all  exhibitions  of  the  kind  with  critical  coolness  ; 
he  holds  his  susceptibilities  well  under  control ;  but 
this  fact  establishes  the  truth  of  all  I  have  said. 
Paintings  and  statues  are  not  made  for  men  of  the 
world,  but  for  the  whole  race — for  susceptible  and 


234 


BACHELOR  BLUFF. 


inflammatory  youth  as  well  as  for  trained  connois 
seurs.  Sexual  passion  is  implanted  in  all  healthy 
natures ;  and  it  is  in  the  young  a  powerful  and  dan 
gerous  force,  which  it  is  necessary  to  keep  under 
subjection,  and  in  order  to  do  this  it  is  wise  to  avoid 
temptation  in  every  form.  It  must  be  remembered — 
what  artists,  perhaps,  do  not  fully  realize — that  the 
attitude  of  cursory  observers  toward  nude  art  is  very 
different  from  their  own.  It  is  declared  that  it  is 
impossible  to  learn  to  draw  the  draped  figure  accu 
rately  without  a  knowledge  of  the  conformation  be 
neath.  This  being  true,  life-schools  are  necessary, 
and  it  is  easy  to  see  how  pupils  at  these  schools  may 
draw  from  models  without  falling  under  the  influ 
ences  which  nude  art  exercises  in  public  galleries. 
The  artist  here  is  on  common  ground  with  the  sur 
geon  or  physician  in  many  delicate  duties,  when  an 
important  and  special  purpose  dominates  all  other 
ideas.  The  student  is  delighted  with  the  admirable 
lines  and  curves  of  the  human  figure ;  he  is  strug 
gling  to  master  the  difficulties  of  form  and  expres 
sion,  and  hence  his  attitude  is  wholly  academic.  But 
he  is  in  error  when  he  assumes  that  this  academic 
relation  to  art  does  or  can  exist  generally  among 
laymen.  The  feelings  that  a  beautiful  form  excites 
in  the  artist  are  certain  to  be  different  from  those 
which  spring  up  in  the  breast  of  the  ordinary  ob- 


MORALS  IN  LITERATURE,  ETC.  235 

server,  who  is  sure  not  to  be  occupied  with  ques 
tions  of  execution  or  artistic  scholarship,  but  with 
the  emotions  which  take  possession  of  him. 

Quiver.  Your  sentiments,  sir,  are  calculated  to  be 
resented  by  a  large  class.  There  are  persons  even 
who  claim  for  art,  in  its  privilege  to  display  the 
human  form  in  unconcealed  dignity  and  charm,  an 
agency  of  spiritual  culture — to  open,  quoting  a  writer 
on  this  theme,  "  the  insight  to  that  mystical  unity  of 
the  spiritual,  intellectual,  and  sensuous  elements  of 
our  nature." 

Bluff.  All  of  which  I  do  not  and  can  not  under 
stand.  How  spiritual  culture  is  to  be  furthered  by 
sensuous  delineations  of  physical  beauty,  by  the  al 
luring  fascinations  of  Venuses  and  Junos,  it  is  hard 
to  say — but  this,  of  course,  is  because  I  am  wholly 
carnal-minded.  I  might  point  out  that  Venus,  the 
goddess  of  beauty,  is  the  most  frequently  chosen 
subject  for  delineation,  and  this  distinctly  because 
she  is  the  ideal  of  voluptuous  female  beauty,  but  I 
would  only  be  scoffed  at.  And  yet  it  is  the  fact 
that  not  one  nude  work  of  art  in  a  hundred  has  any 
thought  of  spiritual  beauty  or  intellectual  beauty,  or 
springs  from  any  desire  to  glorify  the  human  body, 
but  all  are  solely  and  wholly  conceived  and  executed 
as  portraits  of  physical,  sensuous  beauty,  rarely  as 
something  ethereal,  spiritual,  or  divine  —  of  which 


236  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

some  writers  say  so  much.  No,  sir,  the  whole  thing 
is  obvious  enough.  The  human  figure  is  clothed  by 
the  necessities  of  climate  as  well  as  by  the  dictates 
of  modesty ;  and  a  mystery  thereby  is  made  of  the 
body  which  art  can  not  unfold  to  curious  specula 
tion  without  danger.  The  imagination  of  youth 
speedily  catches  fire  at  the  vision  of  female  beauty 
that  art  reveals;  it  finds  no  fascination  in  coarse, 
lewd  art,  but  a  world  of  untold  and  dangerous  emo 
tions  in  the  loveliness  that  sculptor  and  painter  de 
light  to  dwell  upon — more  distinctly  in  painting  than 
in  sculpture,  no  doubt,  the  latter  being  necessarily 
more  severe,  on  account  of  its  lack  of  color.  To 
say  that  youthful  imagination  ought  not  to  be  sen 
suously  stirred  by  art  of  this  kind  is  to  require  of  it 
more  than  is  possible  in  nature.  Such  emotions  are 
natural,  but  they  are  dangerous  because  they  are  apt 
to  lead  to  great  evil,  and  consequently  the  moralists 
are  right  in  deploring  all  art  and  literature  that  tend 
to  inflame  them.  The  plain  common-sense  of  the 
world  is  right  in  this  thing,  as  it  is  in  many  other 
things  which  philosophers  and  critics  quarrel  over. 


XV. 

MR.    BLUFF   AS    A   CRITIC    OX    DRESS. 
(On  tkt   Vfra- 

MIRANDA. 
BACHELOR  BLCFF. 

"  VERY  charming  indeed,  Miss  Miranda,  and  very 
picturesque." 

"I  am  glad  you  like  it,"  exclaimed   !  .  her 

flushing  with   pleasure   at    the  Bachelor's    | 
of  her  new  attire. 

"  There    is    certainly,"    said    Mr.    Bluff,    "  a   very 
noticeable  revival  of  the   picturesque  in  ladies 
parel.     Your  Gains!  ,  i  hat,  now.  with  its  broken, 

artistic  sweep,  its  broad  brim  that  shadows  the  face  so 
charmingly,  gives  an  indes 

expression  :    and  then  your  gown — is  it  not  a  Dolly 
Varden? — is  bewitchingly  pert  and  audacious 
ion   does  not  often  permit  women  to  be  so  charm- 
imr.*1 


238  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  can  say  that,  sir.  Every 
fashion  is  charming  when  it  is  in  vogue." 

"  What !  are  there  no  principles  of  taste,  no  laws 
of  combination  ?  How  can  putting  a  thing  in  vogue 
make  it  handsome,  or  putting  it  out  of  vogue  make 
it  unhandsome  ?  " 

"  But  just  see,  sir,  how  ugly  old  fashions  seem 
to  us  now ;  they  didn't  look  so  queer  and  outlandish 
when  they  were  the  style." 

"  Nevertheless,  they  must  in  fact  have  been  just 
as  queer  and  outlandish.  Use  familiarized  us  to 
them;  and  use  has  doubtless  the  power  to  blind  us 
to  deformity  by  gradually  deadening  our  sensibilities. 
A  truly  good  '  style,'  as  you  call  it,  can  never  appear 
worse  than  what  it  is.  The  real  test  of  the  beauty 
of  a  costume  is  its  effect  upon  us  when  it  is  not  in 
fashion.  No  truly  good  costume,  no  dress  built  up 
upon  correct  artistic  principles,  can  possibly  do  any 
thing  else  than  affect  us  pleasantly,  first  and  last. 
Greek  drapery,  a  Corinthian  capital,  or  a  Greek 
statue,  fills  us  with  delight  always.  The  measure 
of  our  pleasure  will  increase  as  our  knowledge  en 
larges  and  our  tastes  become  refined,  but  pure  beauty 
never  has  to  vindicate  itself;  it  compels  admiration 
in  all  countries  and  in  all  ages.  A  person  often 
appears  ridiculous  when  dressed  up  in  old  bygone 
toggery,  but  this  is  never  the  case  when  the  toggery 


MR.  BLUFF  AS  A    CRITIC  ON  DRESS.        239 

is  of  really  good  character.  We  may  laugh  at  a 
young  girl  disguised  as  Aunt  Hannah,  with  pillow- 
sleeves,  a  *  poke  '  bonnet,  and  her  waist  at  her  arm 
pits;  but  we  could  find  nothing  to  laugh  at  if  the 
same  young  girl  should  appear  before  us  costumed 
as  a  Greek  vestal.  It  is  not  time,  nor  age,  nor 
familiarity,  young  lady,  that  makes  a  given  style  of 
dress  ugly  or  handsome,  but  the  presence  or  absence 
of  art  principles." 

"  Really,  Mr.  Bluff,  you  are  not  pretending  to 
know  anything  about  ladies'  dresses !  " 

"  A  very  little ;  but  one  may  get  an  idea  or  two 
by  making  comparisons.  But  am  I  not  right?  Did 
you  ever  turn  over  a  book  of  costumes,  and  observe 
the  succession  of  frightful  fashions  that  have  been 
in  vogue  at  different  times?  and  have  you  not  quickly 
seen  the  reason  why  they  are  frightful  —  that  it  is 
because  fantastic  caprice  and  not  laws  of  taste  have 
governed  them  ?  Do  you  know  that  in  the  serious 
drama  it  would  be  simply  impossible  in  many  cases 
for  an  actress  to  appear  before  a  modern  audience 
dressed  with  absolute  historic  accuracy?  This  can 
be  done  commonly  in  cases  where  queenly  robes  are 
worn ;  in  almost  all  other  instances  a  costume  strictly 
correct  would  excite  the  risibilities  of  the  spectators, 
and  turn  the  tragedy  into  a  comedy.  Imagine  a  seri 
ous  play  of  the  time  of  the  First  Empire,  with  the 


240 


BACHELOR  BLUFF. 


heroine  in  scant  skirts,  just  reaching  to  her  boot-tops, 
with  her  waist  under  her  arm-pits,  and  a  coiffure 
towering  to  the  skies  !  Such  a  heroine  might  be 
very  amusing  in  an  eccentric  comedy,  but  would 
appear  ridiculous  in  exhibitions  of  intense  feeling. 
No  actress  in  the  world  dares  to  costume  herself 
in  all  her  parts  with  historic  accuracy ;  she  is  com 
pelled  to  modify,  and  adapt,  and  as  far  as  pos 
sible  introduce  changes  based  on  correct  princi 
ples." 

"  How  strange  it  is,"  said  Miranda,  "  that  often, 
when  we  see  old  portraits  of  women  celebrated  in 
their  time  for  their  beauty,  it  is  impossible  to  see 
any  beauty  at  all !  They  -just  look  horrible,  with 
their  frightful  head-dresses,  and  queer  laces,  and 
outrt  gowns." 

"  Those  old  ugly  fashions  lost,  no  doubt,  much  of 
their  ugliness  through  familiarity,  but  women  some 
times  succeeded  in  maintaining  grace  and  beauty 
despite  the  extraordinary  pains  that  were  taken  to 
extinguish  those  qualities.  The  native  charms  of 
the  wearer,  the  flashing  eye,  the  rising  color  of  the 
cheek,  the  dazzling  smile,  the  fascination  of  manner 
and  voice — things  which  disappear  from  the  painted 
image — all  these  were  there  to  charm,  to  captivate, 
and  to  partially  overcome  the  great  drawback  of  a 
preposterous  get-up — to  use  a  phrase  of  the  green- 


MR.  BLUFF  AS  A    CRITIC  ON  DRESS.        241 

room.  It  must  have  been  some  hideous  style  in 
vogue  at  the  time  that  prompted  the  poet  to  declare 
that  lovely  woman  unadorned  is  adorned  the  most. 
In  all  ages  men  have  made  their  vehement  protests 
against  the  ugly  and  fantastic  decrees  of  fashion, 
but  in  all  ages  men,  notwithstanding  the  deformities 
of  mistaken  art,  have  admired  the  loveliness  of 
women  so  far  as  it  has  survived  devices  to  obliter 
ate  it." 

"  What  would  you  have  us  do,  Mr.  Bluff,  in 
order  to  prevent  ugly  styles  coming  into  fash 
ion  ?  " 

"  Do  not  surrender  yourself  so  unreservedly  to 
every  new  device  of  the  mantua-makers,  and  learn 
a*  few  elementary  principles  of  taste.  You  study  a 
little  the  harmonies  of  colors,  but  you  give  no  heed 
to  the  principles  of  lines  and  proportion.  Nature 
understood  her  business  when  she  placed  the  waist 
of  the  human  figure  where  it  is  ;  but  tailors  and 
modistes  are  continually  trying  to  make  a  new  law 
of  proportion — at  one  time  by  thrusting  the  waist 
half-way  up  to  the  shoulders,  at  another  by  extend 
ing  it  down  over  the  hips — and  you  ignorantly  per 
mit  them  to  play  these  tricks  without  rebuke  or 
reproach.  It  is  impossible  for  a  hat  to  look  be 
coming  and  graceful  if  it  does  not  follow  the  lines 

of  the  head,  and  throw  the  face  partly  in  shadow. 
11 


242 


BACHELOR  BLUFF. 


But  you  wear  your  hat  at  one  time  perched  on  your 
nose,  at  another  on  the  back  of  your  neck,  at  another 
you  set  it  up  on  a  mountain  of  hair.  In  all  these 
things  you  evince  no  sense  of  fitness,  of  harmony  of 
form,  of  the  law  of  subordination  of  parts.  You 
want  everything  equally  conspicuous.  One  of  the 
greatest  defects  in  your  attire  is  an  excess  of  trim 
ming — a  taste  which  in  its  origin  is  purely  barbaric. 
Why  do  you  hang  ribbons,  and  flowers,  and  bugles, 
and  laces,  and  trinkets,  and  gewgaws  of  endless 
kinds  all  over  your  gowns  ?  All  this  is  abominable, 
and  most  offensive  to  an  instructed  eye.  A  fresh, 
natural  flower  in  your  hair  or  at  your  waist  is  ex 
quisite  ;  but  a  great  array  of  artificial  flowers  in  your 
bonnet,  at  your  neck,  running  up  and  down  your 
gowns,  is  something  that  certainly  is  not  pleasing, 
nor  artistic,  nor  becoming,  nor  even  civilized.  An 
over-trimmed  garment  is  fussy  and  frivolous ;  it  lacks 
dignity  ;  it  has  no  repose  ;  it  gives  no  sense  of 
beauty ;  it  is  petty,  paltry,  senseless,  meaningless,  and 
vulgar.  A  woman's  drapery  should  be  rich  and 
quiet  ;  it  should  fall  in  ample,  graceful  folds  ;  it 
should  depend  for  its  beauty  on  the  material  and  the 
color,  and  not  on  foreign  ornaments  crowded  upon  it. 
The  art  and  the  beauty  of  simplicity  ladies  either 
do  not  understand,  or  else  they  permit  themselves 
to  be  ruled  absolutely  at  the  dictation  of  their 


MR.  BLUFF  ASA    CRITIC  ON  DRESS.        243 

modistes.  But  perhaps  it  is  fortunate  that  they  do 
blunder  in  this  way." 

"  How  so  ?  " 

"  If  lovely  woman  knew  perfectly  well  how  to 
adorn  herself,  how  to  heighten  her  beauty,  how  to  set 
off  her  charms  to  their  best  advantage,  it  would  go 
hard  with  the  men.  It  is  difficult,  as  it  is,  to  resist 
the  fascinations  of  your  sex ;  if,  then,  you  should 
bring  in  perfect  art  to  your  aid  ;  if  your  toilets  were 
always  perfect  studies,  the  whole  masculine  world 
would  be  at  your  feet :  there  is  no  heart  so  obdurate 
that  it  could  resist  you." 

"You  are  satirical,  sir." 

"  No,  upon  my  honor,  I  am  not." 

"  You  do  not  speak  of  the  want  of  taste  in  men's 
apparel.  You  certainly  do  not  think  your  sex  supe 
rior  to  ours  in  this  particular." 

"  Men  are  not  expected  to  have  taste.  The  styles 
worn  by  them  have  often  been  abominable  enough, 
but  we  must  really  yield  to  your  sex  the  palm  for  in 
genious  ugliness  in  the  way  of  attire.  But  tailors  as 
well  as  modistes  rule.  The  classical  model  of  manly 
beauty  requires  broad  shoulders  and  narrow  hips, 
and  yet  the  time  has  been  when  fashion  dogmatically 
declared  that  the  coats  of  men  should  be  padded  at 
the  hips  and  the  lines  converge  at  the  neck.  Men's 
coats  do  not  narrow  at  the  shoulder  now,  but  they 


244  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

are  commonly  made  wide  at  the  hip,  in  direct  viola 
tion  of  the  fundamental  law.  And  then  see  how  our 
hatters  continually  make  hat-brims  at  right  angles 
with  the  face  !  Nature  never  makes  a  right  angle, 
abhors  right  angles,  but  hatters  set  up  a  law  to 
themselves,  and  continue  to  make  themselves  and 
others  believe  that  a  stiff,  uncurved  line  around  the 
head  is  the  right  thing." 

"  I  wonder  why  men  care  for  such  things?  "  said 
Miranda.  "  No  one  likes  to  see  a  handsomely 
dressed  man.  It  is  foppish  and  unmanly." 

"  And  yet,  by  the  laws  of  Nature,  men  should  be 
adorned  and  decorated  instead  of  women." 

"  What  next  ?  Be  so  good  as  to  explain  this 
notion." 

"  Is  it  not  true  that  nearly  all  through  the  animal 
species  the  male  is  more  splendid  than  the  female  ? 
The  barn-yard  cock  struts  in  brilliant  crest  and 
feathers,  while  the  hen,  in  more  quiet  tints,  moves 
about  demure,  simple,  modest,  content  to  act  its  lit 
tle  domestic  part,  and  leave  pomp  and  beauty  to  its 
master.  The  peacock's  beauty  and  vanity  are  noto 
rious  ;  and  how  marked  they  are  beside  the  quiet, 
gray  peahen  !  The  marvelous  plumage  of  the  bird- 
of-paradise  adorns  the  male  alone  ;  the  stag  tosses 
his  superb  antlers  proudly  in  the  air,  while  the 
doe  stands  modest  and  shrinking  at  his  side ;  the 


MR.  BLUFF  AS  A    CRITIC  ON  DRESS.        245 

majestic  mane  of  the  lion  belongs  only  to  the 
masculine  sex.  In  some  cases  the  difference  be 
tween  the  male  and  the  female  is  very  slight,  but, 
whenever  there  is  a  difference,  it  is  invariably,  I 
believe,  in  favor  of  the  male.  In  man  the  beard 
supplies  the  natural  distinction  seen  in  almost  every 
species." 

"  Are  you  going  to  argue,  Mr.  Bluff,"  asked  Mi 
randa,  with  great  disdain,  "  that  it  is  the  province  of 
man  to  wear  splendid  colors  ?  " 

"  I  am  only  asking  how  it  is  that  in  the  human 
species  all  this  adornment  and  splendor  have  been 
transferred  to  the  female  ?  How  is  it  that  art  has 
been  permitted  to  step  in,  and  seemingly  to  reverse 
a  principle  of  creation  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  I  do  not  know,"  said  Miranda. 

"  Let  us  see  if  we  can  not  discover  the  reason. 
The  distinction  between  the  sexes  that  we  are  con 
sidering  is  largely  due,  according  to  Darwin,  to  the 
admiration  of  the  female  animal  for  beauty  of  color 
and  splendor  of  form.  The  female  bird,  for  instance, 
usually  so  gray  and  quiet  of  feather,  so  modest  and 
simple  in  its  own  demeanor,  is  delighted  with  the 
bright  crests  and  brilliant  plumes  of  its  male  attend 
ants,  and  selects  for  its  mate  among  its  admirers 
him  of  the  gayest  feather.  While  the  male  is  the 
most  brilliantly  adorned,  it  is  the  female,  observe,  for 


246  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

whom  this  adornment  exists — it  is  the  female  whose 
eye  is  pleased,  whose  instincts  are  gratified  in  the 
beauty  of  its  mate.  Do  you  see  where  this  argu 
ment  will  lead  us  ?  Women,  who  adorn  themselves 
in  such  splendid  robes,  who  exhibit  such  keen  ap 
preciation  of  color  and  ornament  and  beauty,  are 
simply  transferring  to  their  own  persons  those  quali 
ties  for  which  they  primarily  have  an  intense  admi 
ration,  but  which  in  Nature  are  displayed  for  the 
delight  of  females  in  individuals  of  the  opposite  sex. 
It  is  something  of  a  usurpation  on  your  part,  it  must 
be  confessed,  this  decking  yourselves  for  your  own 
admiration,  but  our  sex  has,  very  generally,  cheerfully 
surrendered  to  you  this  privilege.  Perhaps  you  will 
say  that,  as  males  have  ceased  to  be  handsome  and 
brilliant,  your  natural  tastes  must  have  some  sort  of 
vent ;  that,  not  having  a  chance  to  admire  the  pict 
uresque  in  men,  you  must  produce  it  in  yourselves 
for  your  own  gratification.  Satisfy  your  conscience  in 
any  way  you  can  ;  the  argument,  at  least,  shows  that 
you  came  naturally  by  your  love  of  gay  apparel,  and 
that  is  something." 

"  If  we  come  naturally  by  it,"  said  Miranda,  "we 
are  the  best  judges  of  it ;  we  have  the  instinct,  the 
inborn  taste,  the  natural  rightful  perceptions ;  and 
you  have  only  a  set  of  crabbed,  perverse,  cold-blood 
ed  notions." 


MR.  BLUFF  AS  A    CRITIC  ON  DRESS.        247 

"  But,  in  Nature,  colors  are  never  mixed  inharmo- 
niously,  and  there  are  fitness  and  purpose  in  every 
thing.  As  your  tastes  come  from  Nature,  study  Nat 
ure  so  as  to  get  at  her  ways  of  doing  things,  and 
then  you  will  silence  criticism,  and  win  unqualified 
admiration  from  us  all.  There  has  been  an  immense 
improvement  in  recent  years  in  home  art :  many 
books  have  been  written  to  aid  people  in  decorating 
their  walls  and  selecting  their  furniture  ;  artists  of 
repute  even  have  not  thought  it  beneath  them  to 
design  wall-papers  and  cabinet-ware  ;  but  no  apostle 
has  arisen  in  the  name  of  artistic  dress.  It  is  true 
that  we  hear  of  some  attempts  in  London  to  revive 
Greek  drapery  for  women,  and  there  is  a  clique 
known  by  the  newly  coined  word  '  aesthetes/  that  af 
fect  mediaeval  eccentricities  in  dress  and  ecstatic  ec 
centricities  in  manner ;  but  I  am  not  aware  of  any 
distinct  attention,  wise  or  unwise,  being  given  to  the 
subject  here.  In  fact,  artists,  so  far  from  concerning 
themselves  about  dress,  are  perhaps  the  worst-dressed 
men  in  the  community — or,  if  they  do  consider  dress, 
they  put  on  a  general  air  of  dilapidation,  as  if  slov 
enliness  and  disorder  are  indispensable  to  the  pictu 
resque.  But  let  men  be  ill  dressed  if  they  will,  it  is 
woman  that  all  men  delight  in  seeing  beautifully 
garbed.  Dress  richly,  dress  with  splendor,  dress  with 
every  device  that  will  enhance  your  beauty,  but 


248  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

remember  my  injunction,  that  really  good  dressing 
must  be  founded  on  artistic  principles,  and  not  on 
caprice." 

"  I  would  rather  be  out  of  the  world,"  exclaimed 
Miranda,  with  spirit,  "  than  out  of  fashion." 


XVI. 

MR.   BLUFF    DISCUSSES    SUNDRY    TOPICS. 

(At  the  Club.} 

[UPON  a  summer  evening,  Bachelor  Bluff  sat  at 
the  club  by  an  open  window,  lingering  over  a  claret- 
cup,  and  chatting  with  three  or  four  who .  had 
gathered  around  him.  The  conversation  was  very 
discursive,  wandering  hither  and  thither,  touching 
upon  many  themes,  and  falling  into  different  moods. 
It  lasted  into  the  small  hours  of  the  morning,  the 
stillness  of  the  street  and  the  growing  coolness 
seeming  to  exercise  a  pleasing  spell  upon  the  gar 
rulous  talker  and  his  listeners.  The  Chronicler 
gathered  up  a  few  fragments  of  the  varied  discus 
sion,  which  are  here  presented.] 

"  Great    thinkers!      Philosophers,    men    of 

science,  economists,  jurists,  are  often  great  thinkers, 
but  poets  and  men  of  letters  rarely.  Poets  deal 
with  sentiments  and  images,  and  essayists  are  com- 


250 


BACHELOR  BLUFF. 


monly  nothing  more  than  rhetoricians.  What  is 
great  thinking?  It  is  separating  complex  phenomena 
and  discovering  the  truth  that  underlies  them.  A 
man  is  not  a  great  thinker  because  he  is  master  of 
a  picturesque  and  stirring  literary  style,  or  because 
he  has  something  original  and  striking  to  say  about 
many  subjects,  or  because  he  has  unusual  power  of 
presentation.  Great  thinking  means  penetrative  and 
accurate  thinking,  thinking  that  establishes  truths 
and  fixes  principles,  that  solves  problems,  that  en 
ables  us  to  understand  ourselves  and  thereby  to 
adjust  our  relations  to  things  around  us,  that  sepa 
rates  fact  from  speculation  and  error  from  falsehood. 
Great  thinkers,  you  see,  are  few  by  this  rule ;  and 
your  Carlyles,  Hugos,  and  Emersons,  who  are  con 
tinually  held  up  as  thinkers,  are  far  from  being 
really  such.  They  are  simply  men  with  a  notable 
capacity  for  uttering  sounding  generalities — and  gen 
eralities  that  are  as  often  sophistries  as  anything  else. 
Carlyle,  with  whose  name  the  world  has  lately  been 
ringing,  was  a  phrase-maker,  and  very  much  more 
concerned  with  the  effect  of  what  he  said  than  with 
the  truth  of  what  he  said." 

"  I  really  must  challenge  you  there,"  said  a  lis 
tener.  "  Carlyle,  I  should  say,  was  preeminently  a 
lover  of  truth." 

"  He  had  a  great   disdain   for  falsehood,  and    he 


MR.  BLUFF  DISCUSSES  SUNDRY   TOPICS. 


251 


admired  sturdy  self-assertion ;  but  that  nice  sense 
which  strives  to  analyze  accurately  and  express  with 
careful  precision,  he  did  not  possess.  He  indulged 
to  great  excess  in  the  artist's  exaggeration :  he  is  the 
rhetorician  always,  first  and  last.  He  possessed  a 
copious  and  unique  vocabulary;  his  sentences  are 
quaint,  rugged,  and  eminently  picturesque ;  he  has  a 
grim  humor  that  gives  a  ripe  flavor  to  many  passages, 
and  a  power  of  trenchant  imprecation  that  is  fairly 
unapproachable.  These  qualities  make  his  writings 
in  their  way  superb.  One  gets  new  ways  of  looking 
at  familiar  things,  he  is  entertained  by  striking  and 
admirable  utterances,  his  ear  tingles  with  a  splendid 
but  barbaric  resonance ;  and  all  this  turbulence, 
these  bustling  and  strangely  discordant  sentences, 
this  rude  force  and  grotesque  decoration,  this  pro 
fusion  of  strange  ideas  and  stranger  words,  all  seem 
no  doubt  indeed  very  like  wonderful  thinking.  But 
what  ideas  has  he  given  to  the  world  ?  He  is  a 
fierce  denouncer  of  shams,  and  a  passionate  lover 
of  force.  He  admires  earnest  truthfulness,  the  spirit 
of  loyalty,  and  self-abnegation.  He  storms  at  ve 
nality,  at  feebleness,  at  selfishness,  at  pretension,  at 
crookedness  of  all  kinds,  at  all  ignoble  and  demean 
ing  things  —  but  while  all  this  is  of  good  service, 
especially  when  uttered  with  authority  and  force,  it 
does  not  constitute  great  thinking.  A  vehement 


252  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

passion  for  worth  and  an  aptitude  for  picturesque 
scolding  may  be  rightly  entitled  to  praise,  but  one 
does  not  come  thereby  to  understand  life  and  the 
world  any  better.  This  temper  does  not  throw  light 
on  dark  places ;  nor  indicate  the  means  whereby  the 
evils  of  society  may  be  abated  or  reformed ;  nor  aid 
us  in  adjusting  conditions,  making  laws,  or  admin 
istering  affairs.  The  unhappy  world  that  from  the 
beginning  has  stumbled  on  through  slough  and  mo 
rass,  hoping  for  and  struggling  toward  the  light, 
must  go  on  in  its  desperate  endeavor,  utterly  un 
aided  by  anything  that  Carlyle  did  or  said.  Did  I 
say  unaided  ?  Will  it  not  rather  have  been  ob 
structed  and  defeated  ?  It  has  gathered  some  com 
fort  from  a  voice  that  has  sounded  for  honesty  and 
uprightness,  but  for  the  most  part  this  voice  has 
mocked  it ;  for  Carlyle  detested  the  growth  of  free 
dom,  clamored  for  the  restoration  of  force  and  au 
thority,  preached  to  men  but  one  virtue,  submission 
— his  whole  philosophy  being,  roughly,  '  Grin  and 
bear  it.'  These  are  very  good  words  at  times,  and 
under  right  circumstances ;  but  who  is  this  thinker, 
this  prophet,  who  can  not  understand  that  mankind 
have  aspirations  and  hopes,  who  comes  only  to  de 
nounce  and  never  to  cheer,  who  imagines  that  ser 
vile  submission  and  not  independent  effort  gives 
greatness  to  the  race  ?  " 


MR.  BLUFF  DISCUSSES  SUNDRY    TOPICS.    253 

"  Yes  !     I  like  a  good  play,  and  I  like  the 

new  actors  so  long  as  they  confine  themselves  to 
modern  plays.  A  new  style  of  composition  has  come 
up,  and  new  methods  of  acting.  Our  actors  have 
lost  a  good  deal  and  learned  a  good  deal ;  and  in 
their  own  particular  fashion  I  accept  them  cordially. 
In  parlor  plays,  in  the  realistic  emotional  drama,  in 
the  light,  sweet  comedies  of  the  Robertson  school, 
the  new  people  are  very  agreeable ;  they  have  learned 
how  to  be  colloquial,  they  have  caught  the  manners 
of  society,  they  know  how  to  be  earnest  and  simple, 
and  they  have  banished  from  the  stage  a  good  many 
of  its  tricks  and  affectations.  I  like  them  very  well, 
indeed;  but  they  must  let  the  old  comedy  alone — it 
overwhelms  them  completely.  The  broad  method, 
the  rich  unction,  the  audacious  effects,  the  ripe, 
mellow  tone,  like  the  impasto  of  the  old  painters — 
these  are  all  gone.  Two  or  three  old  parts  linger  on 
the  stage  in  the  hands  of  the  last  representatives  of 
the  old  school,  but  when  these  men  leave  us  a  distinct 
art  will  utterly  disappear.  Even  brilliant  high  com 
edy  is  gone.  There  are  no  more  Mirabels,  Young 
Rovers,  Charles  Surfaces,  Benedicks ;  the  splendid  art 
of  the  old  actors  in  these  parts,  their  captivating 
gayety,  their  superb  aplomb,  the  dazzling  rattle  of 
their  spirits — the  world  has  lost  it  all.  It  is  a  great 
change,  and  a  change  that  no  one  can  realize  who 


254 


BACHELOR  BLUFF. 


has  never  seen  any  of  the  old  personations.  The 
new  people  are  very  effective  in  their  way ;  and  I 
suspect  the  old  actors  would  be  as  ill  at  ease  in  the 
new  parlor  comedy  as  their  successors  are  when 
they  try  to  fill  out  a  Sir  Anthony  Absolute  or  a 
Dr.  Ollapod.  But  there  is  one  loss  that  can  not  be 
compensated  for — this  is  the  art  of  speaking.  None 
of  the  new  actors  know  how  to  talk.  I  saw  a 
Shakespearean  play  recently,  and  there  was  but  one 
man  on  the  stage  that  knew  how  to  speak  a  line. 
Anybody  can  utter  the  colloquial  commonplaces  of 
the  later  comedy,  wherein  the  art  is  almost  wholly  in 
what  one  does,  not  in  what  he  says  /  but  elocution  is 
a  lost  art.  It  is  true,  a  whole  army  of  elocutionists 
have  been  let  loose  upon  us;  they  abound,  I  sup 
pose,  on  the  principle  that  doctors  multiply  in  sickly 
places.  But  these  elocutionists  know  little  of  true 
elocution  ;  they  are  mimics,  dialect  -  speakers,  plat 
form-actors,  face-makers,  declaimers,  what-not ;  but 
of  that  exquisite  art  which  throws  radiance  on  a 
poetic  line,  bringing  out  its  complete  meaning  and 
full  expression — this  art  is  guessed  at  a  little,  but 
not  at  all  understood.  Charlotte  Cushman  had  it; 
Ellen  Tree  had  it  marvelously;  Edwin  Forrest,  with 
all  his  defects,  and  a  disposition  to  play  with  syllables, 
was  not  without  it;  and  Edwin  Booth,  with  all  his 
many  fine  qualities,  has  it  not — for  his  utterance  is 


MR.  BLUFF  DISCUSSES   SUNDRY   TOPICS.    255 

monotonous  and  hard,  and  lacks  the  illuminating 
touches  that  made  the  old  delivery  so  delightful. 
Well,  the  art  has  gone,  the  army  of  elocutionists 
to  the  contrary,  as  they  may ;  but  I  like  good  act 
ing  of  the  kind  we  have  very  well  indeed  —  yet 
not  in  Shakespeare,  not  in  the  old  comedy." 

"  Does  not  the  difference  between  these  two 
styles  of  acting  indicate  the  change  that  has  come 
over  the  time  ?  " 

"  Undoubtedly.  It  has  been  said,  when  speaking 
of  our  great-grandfathers,  that  those  who  drank  port- 
wine  thought  port-wine.  Certainly,  a  rich,  crusty 
flavor — a  mellow,  broad  heartiness — that  character 
ized  the  last  century,  has  disappeared ;  and  there  is 
substituted  instead  a  very  thin,  acrid  form  of  human 
ity,  which,  to  the  generous  unction  of  the  old  time, 
is  what  claret  is  to  port.  The  spirit  of  the  old 
comedy  was  its  hearty,  almost  boisterous,  mirth,  its 
supreme  and  untroubled  gayety.  As  distinguished 
from  this,  the  merriest  humors  of  the  new  comedy 
are  partially  cynical ;  if  there  is  a  laugh,  it  is  the 
laugh  of  satiety,  of  the  blast /  or,  at  best,  the  mirth 
is  that  of  the  philosopher  who,  discovering  the  van 
ity  of  all  things,  is  merry  with  a  sort  of  pitiful  dis 
dain.  Our  latest  comedy,  moreover,  is  reticent  and 
repressive  ;  it  has  the  repose  of  the  Vere  de  Veres ; 
it  is  nonchalant,  indifferent,  epicurean.  Its  motto  is 


256  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

'  Nil  admirari?  Its  love-making  and  its  heroism 
are  alike  both  cool  and  slightly  scornful.  It  re 
flects  accurately  certain  tendencies  of  the  age  ;  and, 
just  as  we  find  no  rollicking  mirth,  no  abounding 
spirits,  no  ripe  and  eager  zest  in  the  heroes  of  the 
mock  life  before  the  foot-lights,  neither  do  we  find 
them  in  the  real  life  of  the  men  and  women  around 
us.  Mirabel,  or  Rover,  or  Doricourt,  with  their 
huge  exhilaration,  their  glorious  spirits,  their  superb 
animality,  are  possible  only  in  a  past  existence  and 
a  past  art.  We  have  all  turned  speculators  and 
thinkers,  students  and  economists.  We  are  indiffer 
ent  to  almost  everything  but  the  spirit  of  criticism ; 
we  are  fastidious,  cynical,  hypercritical ;  we  affect 
taste,  and  yet  our  manners  are  as  negative  as  our 
spirits,  and  we  have  utterly  outgrown  the  magnifi 
cent  suavity  of  the  old  school.  We  may  well  some 
times  wish  that  our  modern  life  could  catch  a  little 
of  the  warmth  and  lusty  abandon  of  a  hundred  years 
ago ;  but  it  can  not  be.  Each  age  has  unchange 
ably  its  own  characteristics." 

"  The  gift  to  see  ourselves  as  others  see  us  ! 

My  good  sir,  that  would  be  an  uncomfortable  talis 
man  for  most  of  us.  Without  a  little  self-delusion 
in  this  particular,  life  would  scarcely  be  tolerable. 
No,  sir,  that  is  not  the  gift,  despite  Mr.  Poet  Burns, 


MR.  BLUFF  DISCUSSES  SUNDRY   TOPICS. 


257 


that  we  need  or  could  well  endure ;  but,  now,  if 
some  one  would  endow  us  with  the  gift  of  seeing 
things  as  other  people  see  them,  that  would  be  a 
boon.  It  would  multiply  sensations,  increase  the 
number  of  our  ideas,  fairly  enlarge  the  boundaries  of 
life.  Gentlemen,  I  am  a  little  in  love  with  my  own 
fancy ;  I  imagine  one  in  possession  of  the  power  of 
entering  into  the  intelligence  of  other  people,  by  the 
aid  of  some  sprite  having  the  faculty  of  translating 
himself  into  the  identity  of  each  person  he  meets — 
of  coiling  himself  up,  as  it  were,  in  the  imagination 
of  a  poet,  and  seeing  with  his  ravished  eyes  the 
beauties  of  the  world ;  of  gliding  into  the  fancies  of 
a  man  of  science  and  penetrating  with  him  the  mys 
teries  of  nature ;  of  entering  with  passionate  delight 
into  an  artist's  studies  of  the  hills  and  woods ;  into  the 
speculations  of  statesmen,  and  seeing  how  states  are 
ruled  ;  into  the  schemes  of  the  man  of  business  whose 
projects  people  the  wilderness  and  reach  to  the  antip 
odes;  into  the  sports  and  gay  pleasures  of  youth;  into 
a  lover's  ecstasy  ;  into  an  old  man's  tender  recollec 
tions  of  pleasures  gone  by — seeing,  briefly,  life  on  all 
its  sides,  things  in  all  their  aspects.  This  would 
be  a  better  gift  than  the  purse  of  Fortunatus." 

"Well,  sir,  as  to  another  World's  Fair,  why, 

with   all   my  heart;  but   this   time   let  it   be   a   Fair 


258  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

showing  what  has  not  been  done,  which  of  all  the  na 
tions  has  shown  most  skill  in  the  art  of  not  doing. 
Such  an  exhibition  would  be  something  new,  and 
likely  to  do  as  much  good  as  anything  yet  of  the 
kind,  although  the  world  might  not  be  very  proud 
of  it.  An  exhibit  of  how  badly  a  city  can  be  gov 
erned  would  be  very  appropriate,  such  as  a  section 
of  metropolitan  pavement,  an  example  of  a  neglected 
wharf,  a  model  of  an  unrepressed  dram-shop,  an  in 
terior  of  a  splendid  gambling  palace,  a  vivid  picture 
of  a  nine-story  tenement-house  swarming  with  de 
graded  women  and  ragged  children,  a  dramatic  rep 
resentation  showing  how  justice  is  administered  in 
police  courts.  New  York,  of  course,  should  send 
this  contribution,  and  she  would  be  sure  of  a  medal. 
The  General  Government  might  send  a  specimen  of 
how  officials  are  appointed,  with  a  model  of  a  mis 
placed  consul,  and  one  of  a  regulation  custom-house 
officer.  Each  political  party  should  send  a  diagram 
illustrating  how  the  wrong  man  gets  nominated  for 
office.  The  railroad  companies  should  send  a  first- 
class  example  of  the  discomforts  of  American  railway- 
traveling,  illustrating  passengers  suffocated  with  dust, 
persecuted  with  pop-corn  peddlers,  and  fastened  down 
in  narrow,  hard,  and  inquisitorial  seats.  A  model 
of  a  soiled  railway-station  would  be  proper,  with  to- 
bacco-spitters  and  peanut-eaters  in  the  waiting-rooms, 


MR.  BLUFF  DISCUSSES  SUNDRY   TOPICS.    259 

and  dirt  and  debris  heaped  around  it.  Another 
edifying  exhibit  would  be  a  railway-train  crashing 
through  a  bridge,  or  tumbling  over  a  cliff.  A  choice 
specimen  of  a  summer  barrack,  called  a  summer  ho 
tel,  should  be  there,  with  every  detail  of  the  annoy 
ance  it  implies  faithfully  depicted.  Care  would 
need  to  be  taken  to  represent  the  average  Ameri 
can  highway,  the  average  American  suburban  villa, 
the  crowded  American  horse-car,  the  politeness  of 
officials  everywhere,  the  urbane  car-conductor —  But 
I  must  stop.  Do  not  expect  me  to  give  you  a 
whole  catalogue  ;  I  have  said  enough  for  you  to  see 
that,  if  rightly  carried  out,  an  exhibition  on  this  plan 
would  be  a  great  but  most  uncomfortable  success." 

u  What  a  really  magnificent   city  New  York 

might  become  if  the  people  were  only  inspired  with 
the  intense  local  pride  that  once  animated  the  citi 
zens  of  Athens,  of  Rome,  of  Venice,  or  of  the  great 
free  cities  of  Germany !  Its  situation,  in  some  par 
ticulars,  is  wonderfully  fine,  but,  while  everybody  ac 
knowledges  this  fact,  it  is  not  fully  comprehended. 
That  the  city  lies  near  the  sea,  with  a  splendid  bay 
at  its  foot,  and  is  washed  on  each  side  by  a  noble 
river,  is  perceived ;  but  in  what  way  have  these  facts 
been  turned  to  account  ?  For  anything  one  may  see 
as  he  walks  the  streets,  New  York  might  be  an  in- 


260  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

land  city,  standing  in  an  arid  plain.  The  splendid 
waters  that  surround  it  bestow  no  convenience,  no 
beauty,  no  features  of  health,  recreation,  or  attrac 
tion.  Resting  upon  an  inlet  of  the  sea,  it  has  su 
perb  outlooks,  but  they  are  given  over  to  dirt  and 
disorder,  it  being  the  inscrutable  law  of  cities  that 
refuse  and  loafers  shall  ever  drift  down  to  the  wa 
ter's  edge.  There  is  a  Battery  that  commands  a  bay 
which  for  beauty  is  excelled  by  but  one  or  two  in 
the  world,  and  for  picturesque  animation  is  une- 
qualed.  But  the  Battery  is  given  over  to  immigrants, 
who  alone  enjoy  the  fresh  sea  air  and  the  va 
ried  panorama — our  citizens,  for  the  most  part,  turn 
ing  their  backs  upon  it ;  and  yet  what  a  place  for  a 
terrace,  for  a  belvedere,  for  grand  baths,  for  marble 
walks  and  classic  gardens,  for  some  great  display  of 
architectural  beauty  !  No  city  in  the  world  has  a 
spot  so  fitted  for  the  exercise  of  the  architect's  or 
gardener's  skill.  The  broad  bay,  the  green  hills 
that  encompass  it,  the  tossing  waters,  the  anchored 
ships,  the  swift  steamboats  that  come  and  go,  the  im 
mense  stir  and  life — all  make  up  a  fascinating  pict 
ure,  but  it  is  surrendered  to  stragglers  and  strangers. 
There  ought  to  be  erected  a  lofty  tower  with  a  look 
out,  or  hanging  gardens — some  unique  architectural 
structure,  to  which  citizens  might  resort  for  rest,  sea- 
air,  and  an  opportunity  to  look  upon  the  unsur- 


MR.  BLUFF   DISCUSSES  SUNDRY   TOPICS.    26l 

passed  picture  always  to  be  found  there.  There 
should  also  be  erected  baths — I  do  not  mean  swim 
ming-barracks — but  structures  of  marble  such  as 
would  vie  with  the  famous  baths  of  old  Rome.  And 
then  look  at  the  rivers  that  border  the  city  !  Why 
should  the  whole  stretch  of  their  shores  be  given 
exclusively  to  wharves  and  trade  ?  Here  and  there 
an  embankment  or  a  belvedere  should  be  erected, 
to  which  the  people  could  resort  on  summer  days 
and  evenings  and  inhale  the  fresh  air.  Were  there 
such  things  in  the  hearts  of  the  people  as  a  passion 
for  art,  a  taste  for  the  grand,  the  water  boundaries 
of  New  York  would  present  a  succession  of  noble 
piers  for  commerce,  superb  baths  for  health,  splen 
did  belvederes  and  river-side  gardens,  such  as  would 
give  grace  and  beauty  to  its  shores  and  make  the 
city  famous.  But  you  are  saying  to  yourselves,  '  This 
is  the  dream  of  a  visionary.'  Let  me  tell  you  that  it  is 
only  by  exalted  conceptions  of  the  kind  that  cities 
become  great.  Neither  Babylon  nor  Rome  became 
the  wonder  of  the  world  save  by  high  ambition  and 
lofty  local  pride.  Sloth,  indolence,  indifference,  low 
tastes  and  desires,  never  did  and  never  will  give 
largeness  and  dignity  to  the  habitations  of  men." 

"  How  great  is  the  stir  and  commotion  of 

the  times  !     The  many-sided  elements  that  make  up 


262  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

our  population  remind  me  at  times  of  that  vivid 
era  in  ancient  history  when  Italians  and  Greeks, 
Egyptians  and  Jews,  Goths  and  Germans,  Numidi- 
ans  and  Britons,  Christians  and  pagans,  were  united 
under  the  dominion  of  the  Roman  eagle — when  from 
the  Atlantic  to  the  Euphrates,  from  Sahara  to  the 
forests  of  Germany,  turbulent  and  active  millions  of 
widely  different  nationalities  and  habits  jostled  each 
other  in  half-amicable  contention,  and  filled  the  world 
with  the  stir  and  bustle  of  their  doings.  In  America 
we  have  now  as  varied  nationalities  and  as  contrast 
ed  social  elements.  The  four  quarters  of  the  globe 
are  with  us  cheek  by  jowl ;  Africans  and  Mongoli 
ans,  Teutons  and  Celts,  Gauls  and  Saxons,  Jews  and 
Egyptians,  Indians  and  Asiatics,  Slavs  and  Italians 
— people  of  all  nationalities  unite  under  the  aegis 
of  our  flag,  vastly  heterogeneous  under  our  freedom 
for  individual  development,  but  swiftly  acquiring 
a  measure  of  homogeneity  by  reason  of  liberalizing 
intercourse.  These  national  diversities  are  supple 
mented  by  local  diversities,  and  these  again  are  va 
ried  by  the  perfect  opportunity  for  individual  action ; 
and  so  everywhere  we  see  strange  differences  and 
yet  unity — the  struggle  and  friction  of  elements  that 
by  nature  oppose  and  contend,  and  which  yet  by 
law  and  national  pressure  are  abraded  into  certain 
unities  of  purpose.  All  these  contrasted  and  con- 


MR.  BLUFF  DISCUSSES  SUNDRY    TOPICS.    263 

tending  features  produce  throughout  the  country  a 
picturesque  turbulence  that  recalls  the  commotion 
of  Rome,  Constantinople,  or  Alexandria.  The  po 
litical  liberty  which  brings  all  sorts  of  people  from 
foreign  shores  is  attended  by  that  social  liberty 
which  gives  license  to  all  sorts  of  individual  caprice, 
and  as  a  result  we  have  a  life  full  of  contrast,  activ 
ity,  and  collision — a  life  exuberant,  loud,  and  expan 
sive,  which  may  possibly  lack  claim  to  high  refine 
ment,  but  which  yet  compensates  for  this  by  its 
lustiness,  its  courage,  and  its  achievements.  In  all 
our  great  cities  these  elements  are  notably  conspicu 
ous  ;  but  New  York  especially  seems  in  a  perpetual 
flutter  of  exuberant  life.  There  are  here  ceaseless 
outbursts  of  the  elements  that  make  up  its  popula 
tion,  constantly  the  loudest  demonstration  of  differ 
ent  organizations,  nationalities,  or  modes  of  thought, 
while  in  pleasure  as  well  as  in  business  we  are  fairly 
stunned  with  the  excess  of  confused  activity.  The 
Germans  flaunt  their  banners  and  utter  their  paeans 
of  triumph  to-day ;  the  Irish  fill  our  streets  with 
rude  pageantries  to-morrow ;  and  all  peoples  in 
some  form  express  their  national  feelings.  The 
drama  and  opera  of  every  tongue  have  representa 
tives  ;  the  sports  of  all  climes  are  reproduced  in  our 
pleasure-grounds ;  and,  in  our  own  individual  way, 
we  break  out  into  clamorous  conviviality.  How  ex- 


264  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

travagantly  we  dine  and  lavishly  we  drink,  the  ho 
tels  bear  witness;  what  bustle  and  excitement  of 
pleasure  we  delight  in,  our  seashore  resorts  give 
evidence.  A  certain  emphasis  in  our  enjoyments  is 
one  of  our  developing  characteristics.  In  Wall 
Street  our  business  is  enacted  amid  the  clatter  of 
champagne-glasses  ;  on  the  roads  our  soberest  men 
of  trade  repeat  the  excitement  of  the  race-course. 
Our  hotels  are  marvelous  caravansaries ;  our  prome 
nades  glory  in  their  processions  of  gay  costumes. 
In  all  things  there  are  emphasis  and  noise.  We 
repeat  the  hot,  tumultuous  life  of  Rome  when  the 
Roman  Empire  had  gathered  all  peoples  under  her 
dominion,  and  marked  her  boundaries  almost  by 
the  limits  of  civilization." 

"  Logically  women  are  entitled  to  the  suf 
frage,  whether  suffrage  be  either  a  right  or  a  privi 
lege.  If  it  is  a  right,  one  half  of  the  community 
possesses  it  equally  with  the  other  half;  if  it  is  a 
privilege,  who  bestows  it — from  what  is  it  derived  ? 
As  matters  stand,  one  part  of  the  community  gives 
it  to  itself,  which  is  a  little  presumptuous,  to  say  the 
least.  Nevertheless,  we  must,  in  self-defense,  keep 
the  suffrage  from  women  as  long  as  possible.  The 
female  sex  outnumber  us  in  all  the  Atlantic  States 
considerably  now,  and  the  difference  increases ;  if 


MR.  BLUFF  DISCUSSES  SUNDRY   TOPICS.    265 

we,  therefore,  allow  women  to  exercise  the  elective 
franchise,  there  is  danger  that,  instead  of  making 
them  our  political  equals,  they  would  become  our 
political  superiors;  they  would  outvote  us  at  the 
polls,  and  we  should  find  them  combining  to  secure 
their  own  legislators.  They  would  elect  themselves 
to  all  the  places  of  profit  and  honor;  they  would 
retaliate  for  centuries  of  unfavorable  legislation  on 
our  part ;  they  would  shut  up  our  clubs,  make 
smoking  a  penal  offense,  tax  bachelors  out  of  ex 
istence,  and  do  innumerable  things  to  enslave  us. 
The  only  way  to  escape  this  dire  result  is  to  restore 
at  once  the  balance  of  the  sexes.  How  to  do  it  is 
perplexing ;  but  the  supremacy  of  man,  the  welfare 
and  security  of  time-honored  institutions,  all  the 
interests  of  society,  as  we  understand  them,  render 
its  accomplishment  necessary.  The  excess  is  some 
one  hundred  and  thirty  thousand,  I  believe ;  and  to 
dispose  of  this  number  is  a  problem  that  might  well 
tax  the  ingenuity  of  the  most  adroit  statesmanship. 
To  put  so  large  a  number  under  restraint  would  be 
impossible  with  the  present  penitentiary  accommo 
dations,  and  the  cost,  moreover,  would  be  alarming. 
It  wouldn't  do  to  put  them  to  the  sword — such  a 
solution  two  thousand  years  ago  would  have  been 
the  most  obvious  method  of  cutting  the  Gordian 
knot ;  but  in  this  sentimental  era  we  have  qualms 
12 


266  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

and  prejudices.  The  Herod  plan  applied  to  all  fe 
male  infants  would  in  time  accomplish  the  result ; 
and  Swift's  suggestion  in  regard  to  Irish  infants 
would  also  bring  about  the  desired  equilibrium, 
and  at  the  same  time  utilize  the  surplus — but 
baked  female  baby  is  not  yet  one  of  our  recognized 
dishes.  Can  any  one  show  us  the  way  out  of  this 
difficulty  ?  " 

"  Radicalism   and   Conservatism,   instead   of 

being  really  antagonistical,  are  simply  supplemental. 
The  Radical,  for  instance,  discovers  that  without 
progressive  thought  the  world  would  stagnate.  He 
perceives  with  great  clearness  how  much  has  been 
accomplished  in  every  direction — in  opinion,  in  gov 
ernment,  in  science,  in  art,  in  education,  in  religion, 
in  society  —  by  an  emancipation  from  the  traditions 
of  the  past,  by  bold,  speculative  thought,  and  by 
freedom  of  action.  But  the  Conservative  has  equal 
ly  truthful  perceptions.  He  sees  that  the  safety  of 
society  depends  upon  the  maintenance  of  certain 
checks  and  safeguards,  without  which  the  whole  com 
munity  would  rush  into  chaos  and  anarchy.  The 
overthrow  of  established  principles,  the  substitution 
of  everything  untried  for  everything  tried,  the  dis 
regard  of  all  precedents  and  all  experience,  the 
abolition  of  all  subordination  and  all  order  —  these 


MR.  BLUFF  DISCUSSES   SUNDRY    "TOPICS.    267 

things,  the  Conservative  clearly  realizes,  would  break 
up  the  foundations  of  society,  and  bring  us  all  to 
revolution  and  ruin.  And  doubtless  they  would.  It 
would  never  do  for  Radicalism  to  have  its  own  way 
altogether ;  but  neither  would  it  do  for  Conserva 
tism  to  hold  the  world  in  absolute  check.  Conserv 
atism  and  Radicalism  are,  in  truth,  centripetal  and 
centrifugal  social  forces,  which  balance  each  other 
and  direct  the  course  of  the  world." 

"  I  confess  that  I  am  a  dreamer,"  said  the 

Bachelor,  falling  into  a  meditative  mood — "  a  lover 
of  the  Brown  Study,  in  which,  as  in  a  mantle,  I 
often  wrap  myself.  There  is  no  painful  reaction  in 
the  visions  engendered  by  this  harmless  day-dream 
ing,  as  with  those  which  are  stimulated  by  hasheesh 
or  lotus-eating.  There  are  elements  of  indulgence 
and  relaxation  in  it,  it  is  true,  but  in  this  harsh 
world  it  is  strange  if  we  can  not  permit  ourselves 
at  least  a  few  idle  dreams  of  happiness,  the  only 
form  in  which  to  many  of  us  it  can  ever  come. 
The  Brown  Study  may  be  indulged  in  by  an  open 
window,  by  a  slow  and  slumberous  fire,  "  under 
green  leaves,"  by  river  or  lake  shore,  by  the  solemn 
surge  of  the  sea,  and  even  amid  the  stir  and  bustle 
of  busy  highways.  Its  subjects  are  as  various  as 
life,  and  its  requirements  are  simply  a  surrender 


;    r  BACHELOR  BL  UFF. 

of  the  whole  mind  to  its  wayward  and  capricious 
courses.  All  devotees  of  the  Brown  Study  come 
into  large  fortunes;  fall  rapturously  in  love  with 
tender-hearted  women;  achievo^Hpat  successes  in 
art.  literature,  or  commerce;  scat-.er  with  princely 
•••ifa  <  m  r  p-rhancri<^g  wealth  ;  create  rare  Utopias ; 
turn  labor,  skin,  genius,  application,  love,  and  all  hu 
man  sp"t"*¥*iits>  into  triumphant  engines  of  earthly 
bliss.  Nature  bursts  into  beauty,  and  art  into  pro 
duction;  the  heavens  smile  and  the  winds  are  tem 
pered;  all  that  the  fancy  covets,  the  senses  love,  or 
the  heart  yearns  for,  spring  into  form  and  life  at  the 
command  of  this  mystic  talisman  It  deadens  pain, 
gilds  labor,  sweetens  care,  and  fills  the  soul  with 
soft  pleasure.  It  is  one  of  the  fine  qualities  of  the 
Brown  Study,  that  its  students  are  endowed  with 
charity  and  good-wilL  The  munificence  of  their  gifts, 
the  breadth  and  comprehensiveness  of  their  largess, 
are  noble.  In  fact,  one  of  the  keenest  pleasures  ex 
perienced  under  the  influence  of  this  study,  is  the 
ability  which  it  dreamingly  affords  of  scattering  hap 
piness  around,  whether  the  reveries  be  of  wealth,  or 
love,  or  friendship,  or  success.  This  alone  ought  to 
redeem  the  habit  from  the  charge  of  idle  dreaming. 
A  bliss  that  multiplies  itself  by  wide  bestowing,  a 
happiness  that  discovers  a  most  exquisite  delight  in 
its  power  to  bless,  must  leave  a  sweetness  in  the 


MR.  BLUFF  DISCUSSES  SUNDRY  TOPICS.  269 

heart  worth  all  the  indulgence  and  relaxation  by 
which  it  is  created.  But  why  has  this  species  of 
dreaming  received  the  somber  name  of  Brown?  Is 
it  because  it  ^•jf&ften  evoked  by  the  brown  cigar, 
or  the  sraoke-^SPb  pipe?  Is  there  something  in 
the  rapt,  lost,  far-away  look  of  the  dreamer  that  is 
don  and  dim,  as  if  the  sool  had  faded  away  oat  of 
the  features,  and  left  them  blank  and  empty?  Or 
is  it  because  Brown  Studies  are  more  frequent  in 
the  autumn  of  life,  when  all  things  are  sere  and 
somber?  Possibly  it  is  because  brown  is  soft  and 
mellow,  and  has  rich  warm  depths  of  character  and 
expression  —  and  yet  brown  is  of  the  earth,  and 
these  dreams  are  tinted  with  the  hues  of  heaven. 
Brown,  indeed,  the  outward  aspect  may  be;  but  a 
delicious  dreaming  that  lights  up  the  soul  with 
glorious  colors,  that  fills  the  imagination  with  pomp 
and  splendor,  that  converts  all  things  into  beauty, 
promise,  and  delight,  should  to  my  notion  be  enti 
tled  a  Goldea  Study." 

"  Natural  justice !    There  is  no  such  thing. 

If  there  is  natural  justice,  where  and  how  is  it  ex 
hibited?  In  what  does  it  exist?  In  what  way,  I 
ask,  has  society  supplanted  or  disregarded  it?  In 
Nature,  sirs,  there  is  neither  justice,  nor  equity,  nor 
equality ;  there  is  but  one  fundamental  principle, 


2/0  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

and  this  is  might.  Throughout  the  whole  dominion 
of  Nature  the  lesser  is  ever  conquered  and  absorbed 
by  the  greater ;  the  weak  succumb  to  the  strong, 
the  big  consume  the  little ;  life  in  one  form  is  de 
stroyed  to  perpetuate  life  in  another  form.  The 
operations  of  Nature  are  harsh  and  inexorable,  with 
out  mercy,  without  pity,  without  any  sentiment  so 
ever,  possessing  one  sole  attribute  —  that  of  power. 
The  equal  right  of  different  individuals  to  life,  lib 
erty,  and  happiness,  is  unknown.  If  we  derive  our 
ideas  of  right  and  wrong  from  certain  implanted 
instincts,  we  certainly  do  not  find  their  verification 
in  any  of  the  aspects  of  untamed  Nature.  Justice 
has  no  existence  save  as  an  intellectual  perception 
of  cultivated  man — it  is  not  a  law  of  Nature,  but 
the  sublime  conception  of  man.  How  absurd,  then, 
are  all  these  frequent  appeals  to  natural  justice ! 
The  right  term  is  natural  injustice ;  and  if  we  look 
closely  we  will  see  that  this  elementary  principle  is 
continually  operating  in  society;  that  there  is  al 
ways  a  persistent  conflict  between  natural  injustice 
and  human  justice.  As  in  Nature  the  big  consume 
the  little,  so  in  society  we  find  the  strong  control 
ling  and  absorbing  the  weak,  the  lesser  contributing 
to  the  fruition  of  the  greater,  despite  our  struggles 
to  have  it  otherwise.  As  society  has  advanced, 
things  have  changed  much  more  in  name  than  in 


MR.   BLUFF  DISCUSSES  SUNDRY   TOPICS. 


271 


fact.  Trade  is  acting  in  the  same  way  that  military 
prowess  did  once,  building  up  in  the  hands  of  the 
few  enormous  power,  virtually  derived  from  the  sub 
ordination  of  the  many:  hence  now  we  have  Roth 
schilds  and  Vanderbilts,  instead  of  Warwicks  and 
Percies.  The  battle  of  life  is  between  natural  ten 
dencies  to  power  and  conquest  and  human  concep 
tions  of  right ;  and,  instead  of  appealing  to  Nature, 
it  must  be  our  purpose  to  revoke  its  order,  to  dis 
regard  its  example,  if  we  wish  to  firmly  establish 
the  principle  of  social  justice." 

"  The    age    unpoetic    and    unheroic !       Such 

are  current  complaints,  I  know,  but  are  they  true  ? 
Poetry  and  heroism  change  some  of  their  aspects 
from  age  to  age,  and  it  may  be  that  those  who  la 
ment  their  decadence  are  simply  failing  to  discern 
those  virtues  under  their  new  guise ;  but  to  my  mind 
the  age  is  really  neither  unpoetic  nor  unheroic.  It 
is  unmistakably  a  pushing,  energetic,  money-making 
age ;  it  is  distinctly  an  age  where  practical  and  utili 
tarian  things  have  a  very  high  place  in  the  schemes 
and  purposes  of  the  people  ;  but,  notwithstanding  all 
these  strong  practical  activities,  there  is  abundant 
evidence  that  poetry  and  heroism  are  great  existing 
social  forces.  The  people  are  eager  readers  of  im 
aginative  literature.  They  listen  not  only  attentive- 


272  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

ly  to  the  poets  and  singers  of  the  time,  but  they  are 
manifesting  a  marked  disposition  to  go  back  and 
study  periods  of  the  past.  There  are  signs  of  a 
revival  of  classic  taste,  and  the  early  productions  of 
literature  have  now  continually  increasing  hosts  of 
students  and  admirers.  While  on  one  hand  we  see 
that  realism  in  art  and  literature  is  cultivated,  we 
also  note  that  higher  forms  of  imaginative  thought 
lead  captive  whole  ranks  of  the  people.  There 
have  been  more  brilliant  eras  of  dramatic  and  even 
of  lyric  literature,  but  none  in  which  the  poets 
have  enjoyed  so  large  a  body  of  readers,  none  in 
which  they  have  been  permitted  so  freely  to  follow 
their  individual  poetic  instincts,  or  have  more  effect 
ually  stirred  the  popular  heart.  Those  who  look 
may  see  evidence  of  the  truth  of  what  I  say  on 
every  hand.  The  interest  felt  in  every  new  produc 
tion  by  Tennyson,  Longfellow,  Lowell,  Whittier,  Mor 
ris,  Swinburne  ;  the  endless  essays  upon  poetry  and 
the  poets  in  all  the  magazines — these  are  substan 
tiating  facts. 

"  Art  also  is  inspired  with  both  realistic  truth 
and  imaginative  force.  Mere  story-telling  by  pict 
ures  has  declined,  but  the  expression  of  poetic  feel 
ing  and  sentiment  by  color  and  form  has  taken  a 
lofty  place.  I  do  not  deny  that  there  have  been 
greater  art-epochs,  but  there  is  now  a  marked  pas- 


MR.  BLUFF  DISCUSSES  SUNDRY   TOPICS.    273 

sion  for  studying  those  epochs ;  there  is  an  eager 
ness  to  be  at  home  with  their  spirit  and  to  master 
their  teachings.  Mere  imitations  of  ancient  methods 
are  not  tolerated,  but  originality,  passion,  individual 
sentiment,  inventive  power,  are  quickly  recognized 
and  applauded.  This  so-called  unpoetic  age  is  com 
pleting  in  some  instances  and  restoring  in  others  the 
great  poetical  architecture  of  earlier  ages ;  it  is 
searching  amid  the  ruins  of  buried  cities  for  pre 
cious  art-memorials  of  the  past,  and  placing  the  dis 
covered  treasures  in  places  of  honor ;  it  is  bringing 
into  practical  use  ancient  suggestions  in  decorative 
and  ornamental  art ;  it  is,  in  fact,  full  of  reverence 
for  the  great  achievements  of  the  imagination  that 
have  come  down  to  it,  and  is  instinct  with  pleasure 
in  the  stimulating  and  often  daring  productions  of 
to-day.  The  literature  about  art  is  swelling  cease 
lessly  ;  teachers  who  instruct  what  and  how  to  ad 
mire  are  eagerly  listened  to ;  and  everywhere  are  the 
evidences  of  how  large  a  place  this  form  of  poetic 
feeling  holds  with  us. 

"  And  heroism  no  less  than  poetry  takes  its  place 
in  this  many-sided  era.  The  loud  proclamation  and 
noisy  defiance  of  some  of  the  earlier  forms  of  hero 
ism  do  not  exist ;  men  now  believe  it  incumbent 
upon  them  to  seek  no  opportunity  for  the  mere  dis 
play  of  their  gallantry,  but  also  to  shrink  from  no 


274  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

occasion  that  exacts  fortitude  or  involves  self-sacri 
fice.  That  is  emphatically  not  an  imheroic  age  that 
with  so  much  zeal  dares  the  wilderness  of  ice  in  the 
arctic  seas  and  the  wilderness  of  forest  and  swamp 
in  the  heart  of  Africa ;  that  delights  in  conquering 
hitherto  inaccessible  mountain-peaks  ;  that  penetrates 
everywhere,  explores  everywhere,  and  enters  into  a 
multitude  of  splendid  enterprises.  Recent  wars 
showed  no  decline  of  that  physical  courage  which 
in  earlier  ages  was  so  worshiped  ;  and  in  all  the 
ordinary  exigencies  of  life,  fortitude,  endurance,  the 
courage  to  do  and  to  suffer,  evince  no  lack  of  the 
true  spirit  of  heroism.  You  can  readily  supplement 
many  arguments  and  facts  to  those  I  have  advanced, 
to  show  that  the  age  has  neither  lost  imaginative 
sympathy,  which  is  the  essential  spirit  of  poetry,  nor 
the  fiber  of  genuine  heroism." 

"  Have  you  noted  the  recent  marked  intru 
sion  of  the  peasant  into  art  and  literature,  especially 
French  art  and  literature  ?  Democratic  theories  and 
principles  are  no  new  things,  but  genuine  democratic 
sympathies  are  a  development  almost  of  our  own 
time ;  at  least,  both  art  and  literature  have  largely 
held  themselves  aloof  from  phases  of  lowly  life. 
France  once  politically  deified  the  people,  but  that 
was  a  spasm  of  demagogism  rather  than  any  genuine 


MR.  BLUFF  DISCUSSES   SUNDRY    TOPICS.    275 

sympathy  with  the  lower  classes;  but  to-day  there 
are  evidences  of  a  new  spirit  there.  A  great  deal 
of  recent  French  fiction  is  devoted  to  the  delinea 
tion  and  elevation  of  peasant-life.  George  Sand, 
during  the  latter  part  of  her  life,  gave  pictures  of 
rustic  and  the  better  forms  of  peasant  life  in  her 
stories  almost  exclusively.  Edmond  About  gave  us 
recently,  in  '  The  Story  of  an  Honest  Man,'  one  of 
the  finest  pictures  of  sturdy,  lowly  life  ever  penned ; 
Theuriet  has  written  some  most  delightful  sketches 
of  provincial  and  rustic  characters,  and  set  upon  a 
high  place  the  simple  virtues  of  peasant-life ;  and 
many  other  French  writers  have  caught  up  the  idea. 
But  Art,  more  conspicuously  even  than  Literature, 
has  opened  its  arms  to  this  new  thought.  The 
painter  Millet,  a  peasant  himself,  has  revealed  the 
character,  the  sorrows,  and  the  struggles  of  the 
peasant  to  the  world  ;  he  has  challenged  its  critical 
attention  and  awakened  everywhere  its  sympathies. 
The  world  has  long  been  familiar  with  the  ideal 
peasant  of  the  ballet,  and  the  romantic  peasant  of 
the  poets,  and  sometimes  caught  glimpses  in  history 
of  ignorant,  brutal,  and  starved  masses ;  but  the  real 
peasant,  just  as  he  is,  lowly  but  human,  bent  under 
many  burdens  but  not  without  aspirations,  has 
been  effectively  delineated  only  in  our  own  age. 
The  change  that  has  come  over  the  spirit  of  art  in 


276  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

this  particular  betokens  the  general  widening  of  the 
human  horizon,  the  broadening  of  sympathies,  the 
coming  of  that  true  democracy  that  shall  make  the 
human  family  all  one  brotherhood.  Even  a  few 
decades  ago  art  concerned  itself  almost  solely  with 
the  historic  and  great.  It  thirsted  for  pomp  and 
splendor,  for  great  events,  for  heroes,  for  ethereal 
beauty,  for  tragic  incidents ;  and  now  it  is  turning 
from  these  themes  to  paint  gray  skies,  uncouth,  hum 
ble  figures,  the  shadow  that  lies  on  the  path  of  the 
laborer.  This  is  a  change  the  philosophy  of  which 
may  well  be  studied." 

"  There  is  something  glorious  in  youth.     Its 

follies  never  trouble  me  ;  I  think  nothing  of  its 
ignorance  when  I  see  its  faith  and  courage;  noth 
ing  of  its  vanity  and  conceit  when  I  see  its  truth, 
its  hopeful  confidence,  its  bold  aspirations,  its  pas 
sion  for  splendid  dreaming.  Who  would  not  sur 
render  all  the  acquisitions  that  have  come  with  time 
and  take  up  youth  with  all  its  greenness  and  fool 
ishness,  if  the  Fates  offered  such  a  reversion  of 
life-leases?  By  Jove!  there  would  be  a  precipitate 
return  to  the  beautiful  days,  much  as  we  may  affect 
to  despise  them.  Wisdom  would  fling  its  learning 
down  with  its  gray  beard  ;  Fame  would  toss  its 
crown  into  the  air;  Power  fling  its  scepter  into  the 


MR.  BLUFF  DISCUSSES  SUNDRY   TOPICS.  277 

gutter ;  Greatness  rush  with  more  eagerness  down 
the  steps  of  the  temple  than  it  ever  ascended  them ; 
and  Wealth  sweep  its  coin  aside  without  a  murmur 
— each  taking  up  the  fresh,  unworn  garment  of  youth, 
and  wandering  off  filled  with  a  rapture  known  to 
our  'green  and  salad'  days  only." 

"  There  are  dull  sermons  and  dull  lectures, 

no  doubt ;  but  there  is  an  almost  infallible  receipt 
for  making  sermons  and  lectures  interesting." 

"  What  is  that,  sir  ?  " 

"  Listen  to  them.  Alert  imagination  and  willing 
sympathy  are  important  factors  in  giving  life  and 
meaning  to  many  things  that  come  before  us.  What 
is  wanted  in  this  world  more  than  anything  else  is 
intelligent  appreciation  ;  for  performance  in  all  the 
arts  commonly  goes  beyond  the  capacity  of  people 
to  understand.  To  the  dull  all  things  are  dull.  No 
matter  what  wealth  of  color  an  artist  pours  upon  his 
canvas,  the  picture  is  meaningless  to  him  who  does 
not  look  upon  it  with  quickened  apprehension  ;  no 
matter  with  what  splendor  of  imagery  a  poet  adorns 
his  lines,  it  is  all  a  babble  to  him  who  has  no  poesy 
in  his  soul.  Dante  and  Shakespeare,  Raphael  and 
Murillo,  Beethoven  and  Handel,  all  are  barren  to 
the  lethargic,  insensible  mind.  Many  a  line  of  a 
poet  has  profound  significance  to  a  student,  which 


278  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

is  but  meaningless  jargon  to  the  clown  ;  many  a 
flower  is  full  of  beauty  to  a  naturalist  that  to  the 
crude  rustic  is  no  more  than  a  worthless  weed.  As 
it  is  true  that 

"  '  The  ripe  flavor  of  Falernian  tides, 

Not  in  the  wine,  but  in  the  taste  resides ' ; 

as  it  is  certain  that  the  glowing  tints  of  the  flower 
and  the  radiant  splendors  of  the  sunset  depend  up 
on  the  susceptibility  of  the  retina  that  mirrors  them ; 
as  it  is  the  delicate  sensitiveness  in  the  photographic 
plate  that  catches  successfully  the  shadow  of  the 
sun,  and  fixes  the  subtile  lines  of  the  image ;  as 
melody  can  live  only  in  the  attuned  ear;  as  heat 
and  light  are  vital  forces  only  as  they  act  upon  the 
material  substances  that  receive  them  —  so  we  may 
be  assured  that  the  world  of  mind  is  equally  with 
these  instances  of  physical  phenomena  a  matter  of 
relation  and  correspondence.  No  seeds  are  so  fruit 
ful  that  they  can  quicken  in  a  desert  soil,  and  few 
so  feeble  that  they  will  not  vivify  in  a  generous 
loam.  In  fault-finding  criticism,  therefore,  it  is  often 
uncertain  where  the  defect  lies — whether  it  is  really 
in  the  dullness  of  the  producer  or  in  the  stubborn 
insensibility  of  the  censor." 

"  Fickle   Fortune  !     It  would  be  good   news 

to  many  people  if  this  were  true.     There  are  lucky 


MR.   BLUFF  DISCUSSES  SUNDRY   TOPICS.  279 

men  to  whom  Fortune  is  always  faithful,  always  a 
south  wind  bringing  balm  and  sweet  service ;  and 
there  are  unlucky  men  to  whom  she  is  always 
averse,  a  perpetual  east  wind,  chilling  and  killing. 
Fortune  and  misfortune  in  this  world  are  distributed 
very  much  as  at  a  breakfast-table,  where  all  the  sugar 
is  in  one  vessel  and  all  the  mustard  in  another." 

"  The  millennium  is  not  impossible,  and  not 

so  very  difficult.  If  every  man  from  this  time  forth 
gave  his  whole  attention  to  his  own  sins  and  vices, 
and  ceased  to  make  war  on  other  people's  sins  and 
vices,  we  should  have  it  with  the  new  moon." 

"  A   great    many    people    go    to    church,  no 

doubt,  to  honestly  confess  their  sins,  but  I  am 
afraid  that  a  larger  number  go  to  church  to  con 
fess  their  virtues." 

"  Great   men,    it   is   often   said,   are    only   a 

little  in  advance  of  the  multitude — just  as  hills  and 
valleys  are  alike  plunged  in  darkness  at  midnight, 
but  the  dawn  lightens  the  hill-tops  first." 

"  The  cynics  will  have  it  that  all  the  world 

is  selfish,  and  every  son  of  Adam  occupied  solely 
with  himself.  The  absurdity  of  this  notion  is  evident 


28o  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

at  a  glance — for  who  has  not  observed  the  solicitude 
and  concern  with  which  people  watch  the  sins  and 
shortcomings  of  other  people  ?  How  anxious  they 
are  to  bring  them  to  repentance,  how  pained  they 
are  because  they  are  not  as  wise  and  virtuous  as 
themselves  !  Who  ever  hears  a  sermon,  that  he  does 
not  generously  turn  it  over  to  an  erring  friend ;  or  a 
wise  axiom,  that  he  does  not  promptly  apply  it  to 
a  sinful  enemy  ?  Anxious  individuals  continually  go 
about  lamenting  the  unfortunate  habits  and  weak 
nesses  of  their  neighbors,  and  are  in  such  despair 
because  of  the  sins  and  vices  of  society,  that  nothing 
consoles  them  but  the  balm  of  their  own  virtues." 


XVII. 

MR.  BLUFF'S   EXPERIENCES  OF  HOLIDAYS. 

BACHELOR  BLUFF, 
THE  CHRONICLER. 

"  I  HATE  holidays,"  said  Bachelor  Bluff  to  me, 
with  some  little  irritation,  on  a  Christmas  a  few 
years  ago.  Then  he  paused  an  instant,  after  which 
he  resumed :  "  I  don't  mean  to  say  that  I  hate  to 
see  people  enjoying  themselves.  But  I  hate  holi 
days,  nevertheless,  because  to  me  they  are  always  the 
dreariest  and  saddest  days  of  the  year.  I  shudder 
at  the  name  of  holiday.  I  dread  the  approach  of 
one,  and  thank  Heaven  when  it  is  over.  I  pass 
through,  on  a  holiday,  the  most  horrible  sensations, 
the  bitterest  feelings,  the  most  oppressive  melan 
choly  ;  in  fact,  I  am  not  myself  at  holiday-times." 

"  Very  strange,"  I  ventured  to  interpose. 

"  A  plague  on  it !  "  said  he,  almost  with  violence. 
14  I'm  not  inhuman.  I  don't  wish  anybody  harm. 
I'm  glad  people  can  enjoy  themselves.  But  I  hate 
holidays  all  the  same.  You  see,  this  is  the  reason : 


28z  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

I  am  a  bachelor ;  I  am  without  kin ;  I  am  in  a 
place  that  did  not  know  me  at  birth.  And  so,  when 
holidays  come  around,  there  is  no  place  anywhere 
for  me.  I  have  friends,  of  course;  I  don't  think 
I've  been  a  very  sulky,  shut-in,  reticent  fellow;  and 
there  is  many  a  board  that  has  a  place  for  me — but 
not  at  Christmas-time.  At  Christmas,  the  dinner  is 
a  family  gathering;  and  I've  no  family.  There  is 
such  a  gathering  of  kindred  on  this  occasion,  such 
a  reunion  of  family  folk,  that  there  is  no  place  for 
a  friend,  even  if  the  friend  be  liked.  Christmas, 
with  all  its  kindliness  and  charity  and  good-will,  is, 
after  all,  deuced  selfish.  Each  little  set  gathers 
within  its  own  circle;  and  people  like  me,  with  no 
particular  circle,  are  left  in  the  lurch.  So  you  see, 
on  the  day  of  all  the  days  in  the  year  that  my 
heart  pines  for  good  cheer,  I'm  without  an  invita 
tion. 

"  Oh,  it's  because  I  pine  for  good  cheer,"  said 
the  bachelor,  sharply,  interrupting  my  attempt  to 
speak,  "  that  I  hate  holidays.  If  I  were  an  infer 
nally  selfish  fellow,  I  wouldn't  hate  holidays.  I'd 
go  off  and  have  some  fun  all  to  myself,  somewhere 
or  somehow.  But,  you  see,  I  hate  to  be  in  the  dark 
when  all  the  rest  of  the  world  is  in  light.  I  hate 
holidays,  because  I  ought  to  be  merry  and  happy 
on  holidays,  and  can't. 


MR.  BLUFF'S  EXPERIENCES   OF  HOLIDAYS.   283 

"  Don't  tell  me,"  he  cried,  stopping  the  word 
that  was  on  my  lips ;  "  I  tell  you,  I  hate  holidays. 
The  shops  look  merry,  do  they,  with  their  bright 
toys  and  their  green  branches  ?  The  pantomime  is 
crowded  with  merry  hearts,  is  it?  The  circus  and 
the  show  are  brimful  of  fun  and  laughter,  are  they  ? 
Well,  they  all  make  me  miserable.  I  haven't  any 
pretty-faced  girls  or  bright-eyed  boys  to  take  to  the 
circus  or  the  show,  and  all  the  nice  girls  and  fine 
boys  of  my  acquaintance  have  their  uncles  or  their 
grand-dads  or  their  cousins  to  take  them  to  those 
places ;  so,  if  I  go,  I  must  go  alone.  But  I  don't 
go.  I  can't  bear  the  chill  of  seeing  everybody  happy, 
and  knowing  myself  so  lonely  and  desolate.  Con 
found  it,  sir,  I've  too  much  heart  to  be  happy  under 
such  circumstances  !  I'm  too  humane,  sir  !  And  the 
result  is,  I  hate  holidays.  It's  miserable  to  be  out, 
and  yet  I  can't  stay  at  home,  for  I  get  thinking  of 
Christmases  past.  I  can't  read — the  shadow  on  my 
heart  makes  it  impossible.  I  can't  walk — for  I  see 
nothing  but  pretty  pictures  through  the  bright  win 
dows,  and  happy  groups  of  pleasure-seekers.  The 
fact  is,  I've  nothing  to  do  but  to  hate  holidays. — 
But  will  you  not  dine  with  me  ?  " 

Of  course,  I  had  to  plead  engagement  with  my 
own  family  circle,  and  I  couldn't  quite  invite  Mr. 
Bluff  home  that  day,  when  Cousin  Charles  and  his 


284  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

wife,  and  Sister  Susan  and  her  daughter,  and  three 
of  my  wife's  kin,  had  come  in  from  the  country,  all 
to  make  a  merry  Christmas  with  us.  I  felt  sorry, 
but  it  was  quite  impossible  ;  so  I  wished  Mr.  Bluff 
a  "merry  Christmas,"  and  hurried  homeward  through 
the  cold  and  nipping  air. 

I  did  not  meet  Bachelor  Bluff  again  until  a  week 
after  Christmas  of  the  next  year,  when  I  learned 
some  strange  particulars  of  what  occurred  to  him 
after  our  parting  on  the  occasion  just  described.  I 
will  let  Bachelor  Bluff  tell  his  adventures  for  him 
self: 

"  I  went  to  church,"  said  he,  "  and  was  as  sad 
there  as  everywhere  else.  Of  course,  the  evergreens 
were  pretty,  and  the  music  fine;  but  all  around  me 
were  happy  groups  of  people,  who  could  scarcely 
keep  down  merry  Christmas  long  enough  to  do  rev 
erence  to  sacred  Christmas.  And  nobody  was  alone 
but  me.  Every  happy  paterfamilias  in  his  pew  tan 
talized  me,  and  the  whole  atmosphere  of  the  place 
seemed  so  much  better  suited  to  every  one  else  than 
me  that  I  came  away  hating  holidays  worse  than 
ever.  Then  I  went  to  the  play,  and  sat  down  in  a 
box  all  alone  by  myself.  Everybody  seemed  on  the 
best  of  terms  with  everybody  else,  and  jokes  and 
banter  passed  from  one  to  another  with  the  most 
good-natured  freedom.  Everybody  but  me  was  in 


MR.  BLUFF'S  EXPERIENCES  OF  HOLIDAYS.  285 

a  little  group  of  friends.  I  was  the  only  person  in 
the  whole  theatre  that  was  alone.  And  then  there 
was  such  clapping  of  hands,  and  roars  of  laughter, 
and  shouts  of  delight  at  all  the  fun  going  on  upon 
the  stage,  all  of  which  was  rendered  doubly  enjoy 
able  by  everybody  having  somebody  with  whom  to 
share  and  interchange  the  pleasure,  that  my  loneli 
ness  got  simply  unbearable,  and  I  hated  holidays 
infinitely  worse  than  ever. 

"  By  five  o'clock  the  holiday  became  so  intoler 
able  that  I  said  I'd  go  and  get  a  dinner.  The 
best  dinner  the  town  could  provide.  A  sumptuous 
dinner.  A  sumptuous  dinner  for  one.  A  dinner 
with  many  courses,  with  wines  of  the  finest  brands, 
with  bright  lights,  with  a  cheerful  fire,  with  every 
condition  of  comfort — and  I'd  see  if  I  couldn't  for 
once  extract  a  little  pleasure  out  of  a  holiday  ! 

"  The  handsome  dining-room  at  the  club  looked 
bright,  but  it  was  empty.  Who  dines  at  this  club 
on  Christmas  but  lonely  bachelors  ?  There  was  a 
flutter  of  surprise  when  I  ordered  a  dinner,  and 
the  few  attendants  were,  no  doubt,  glad  of  some 
thing  to  break  the  monotony  of  the  hours. 

"  My  dinner  was  well  served.  The  spacious 
room  looked  lonely;  but  the  white,  snowy  cloths, 
the  rich  window  -  hangings,  the  warm  tints  of  the 
walls,  the  sparkle  of  the  fire  in  the  steel  grate,  gave 


286  BACHELOR  BLl 

the  room  an  air  of  elegance  and  cheerfulness;  and 
then  the  table  at  which  I  dined  was  close  to  the 
window,  and  through  the  partly-drawn  curtains  were 
visible  pictures  of  lonely,  cold  streets,  with  bright 
lights  from  many  a  window,  it  is  true,  but  there  was 
a  storm,  and  snow  began  whirling  through  the  street 
I  let  my  imagination  paint  the  streets  as  cold  and 
dreary  as  it  would,  just  to  extract  a  little  pleasure 
by  way  of  contrast  from  the  brilliant  room  of  which 
I  was  apparently  sole  master. 

"  I  dined  well,  and  recalled  in  fancy  old,  youth 
ful  Christmases,  and  pledged  mentally  many  an  old 
friend,  and  my  melancholy  was  mellowing  into  a 
low,  sad  undertone,  when,  just  as  I  was  raising  a 
glass  of  wine  to  my  lips,  I  was  startled  by  a  picture 
at  the  window-pane.  It  was  a  pale,  wild,  haggard 
face,  in  a  great  cloud  of  black  hair,  pressed  against 
the  glass.  As  I  looked,  it  vanished.  With  a  strange 
thrill  at  my  heart,  which  my  lips  mocked  with  a  de 
risive  sneer,  I  finished  the  wine  and  set  down  the 
glass.  It  was,  of  course,  only  a  beggar-girl  that  had 
crept  up  to  the  window  and  stole  a  glance  at  the 
bright  scene  within;  but  still  the  pale  face  troubled 
me  a  little,  and  threw  a  fresh  shadow  on  my  heart. 
I  filled  my  glass  once  more  with  wine,  and  was 
again  about  to  drink,  when  the  face  reappeared  at 
the  window.  It  was  so  white,  so  thin,  with  eyes  so 


MR.  BLUFF'S  EXPERIENCES  OF  HOLIDAYS.   287 

large,  wild,  and  hungry-looking,  and  the  Mack,  un 
kempt  hair,  into  which  the  snow  had  drifted,  formed 
so  strange  and  weird  a  frame  to  the  picture,  that  I 
was  fairly  startled.  Replacing,  untasted,  the  liquor 
on  the  table,  I  rose  and  went  close  to  the  pane. 
The  face  had  vanished,  and  I  could  see  no  object 
within  many  feet  of  the  window.  The  storm  had 
increased,  and  the  snow  was  driving  in  wild  gusts 
through  the  streets,  which  were  empty,  save  here 
and  there  a  hurrying  wayfarer.  The  whole  scene 
was  cold,  wild,  and  desolate,  and  I  could  not  repress 
a  keen  thrill  of  sympathy  for  the  child,  whoever  it 
was,  whose  only  Christmas  was  to  watch,  in  cold  and 
storm,  the  rich  banquet  ungratefully  enjoyed  by  die 
lonely  bachelor.  I  resumed  my  place  at  the  table; 
but  the  dinner  was  finished,  and  the  wine  had  no 
further  relish.  I  was  haunted  by  the  vision  at  the 
window,  and  began,  with  an  unreasonable  irritation 
at  the  interruption,  to  repeat  with  fresh  warmth  my 
detestation  of  holidays.  One  couldn't  even  dine 
alone  on  a  holiday  with  any  sort  of  comfort,  I  de 
clared.  On  holidays  one  was  tormented  by  too 
much  pleasure  on  one  side,  and  too  much 
the  other.  And  then,  I  said,  hunting  for 
tion  of  my  dislike  of  the  day,  'How  many  other 
people  are,  like  me,  made  miserable  by  seeing  the 
fullness  of  enjoyment  others  possessed ! ' 


288  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  know,"  sarcastically  replied  the 
bachelor  to  a  comment  of  mine  ;  "  of  course,  all 
magnanimous,  generous,  and  noble-souled  people  de 
light  in  seeing  other  people  made  happy,  and  are 
quite  content  to  accept  this  vicarious  felicity.  But 
I,  you  see,  and  this  dear  little  girl — " 

"  Dear  little  girl !  " 

"Oh,  I  forgot,"  said  Bachelor  Bluff,  blushing  a 
little,  in  spite  of  a  desperate  effort  not  to  do  so. 
"  I  didn't  tell  you.  Well,  it  was  so  absurd !  I  kept 
thinking,  thinking  of  the  pale,  haggard,  lonely  little 
girl  on  the  cold  and  desolate  side  of  the  window- 
pane,  and  the  over -fed,  discontented,  lonely  old 
bachelor  on  the  splendid  side  of  the  window-pane ; 
and  I  didn't  get  much  happier  thinking  about  it,  I 
can  assure  you.  I  drank  glass  after  glass  of  the 
wine — not  that  I  enjoyed  its  flavor  any  more,  but 
mechanically,  as  it  were,  and  with  a  sort  of  hope 
thereby  to  drown  unpleasant  reminders.  I  tried  to 
attribute  my  annoyance  in  the  matter  to  holidays, 
and  so  denounced  them  more  vehemently  than  ever. 
I  rose  once  in  a  while  and  went  to  the  window, 
but  could  see  no  one  to  whom  the  pale  face  could 
have  belonged. 

"  At  last,  in  no  very  amiable  mood,  I  got  up,  put 
on  my  wrappers,  and  went  out ;  and  the  first  thing 
I  did  was  to  run  against  a  small  figure  crouching 


MR.  BLUFF'S  EXPERIENCES  OF  HOLIDAYS.  289 

in  the  doorway.  A  face  looked  up  quickly  at  the 
rough  encounter,  and  I  saw  the  pale  features  of  the 
window-pane.  I  was  very  irritated  and  angry,  and 
spoke  harshly;  and  then,  all  at  once,  I  am  sure  I 
don't  know  how  it  happened,  but  it  flashed  upon 
me  that  I,  of  all  men,  had  no  right  to  utter  a  harsh 
word  to  one  oppressed  with  so  wretched  a  Christmas 
as  this  poor  creature  was.  I  couldn't  say  another 
word,  but  began  feeling  in  my  pocket  for  some 
money,  and  then  I  asked  a  question  or  two,  and 
then  I  don't  quite  know  how  it  came  about — isn't 
it  very  warm  here  ?  "  exclaimed  Bachelor  Bluff,  rising 
and  walking  about,  and  wiping  the  perspiration  from 
his  brow. 

"  Well,  you  see,"  he  resumed,  nervously,  "  it  was 
very  absurd,  but  I  did  believe  the  girl's  story — the 
old  story,  you  know,  of  privation  and  suffering,  and 
all  that  —  and  just  thought  I'd  go  home  with  the 
brat  and  see  if  what  she  said  was  all  true.  And 
then  I  remembered  that  all  the  shops  were  closed, 
and  not  a  purchase  could  be  made.  I  went  back  and 
persuaded  the  steward  to  put  up  for  me  a  hamper 
of  provisions,  which  the  half-wild  little  youngster 
helped  me  carry  through  the  snow,  dancing  with 
delight  all  the  way. — And  isn't  this  enough  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit,  Mr.  Bluff.  I  must  have  the  whole 
story." 

13 


290 


BACHELOR  BLUFF. 


"  I  declare,"  said  Bachelor  Bluff,  "  there's  no 
whole  story  to  tell.  A  widow  with  children  in  great 
need,  that  was  what  I  found ;  and  they  had  a  feast 
that  night,  and  a  little  money  to  buy  them  a  loaf  and 
a  garment  or  two  the  next  day;  and  they  were  all 
so  bright,  and  so  merry,  and  so  thankful,  and  so 
good,  that,  when  I  got  home  that  night,  I  was  might 
ily  amazed  that,  instead  of  going  to  bed  sour  at 
holidays,  I  was  in  a  state  of  great  contentment  in 
regard  to  holidays.  In  fact,  I  was  really  merry.  I 
whistled.  I  sang.  I  do  believe  I  cut  a  caper. 
The  poor  wretches  I  had  left  had  been  so  merry 
over  their  unlooked-for  Christmas  banquet  that  their 
spirits  infected  mine. 

"  And  then  I  got  thinking  again.  Of  course, 
holidays  had  been  miserable  to  me,  I  said.  What 
right  had  a  well-to-do,  lonely  old  bachelor  hovering 
wistfully  in  the  vicinity  of  happy  circles,  when  all 
about  there  were  so  many  people  as  lonely  as  he, 
and  yet  oppressed  with  want  ?  4  Good  Gracious  ! '  I 
exclaimed,  '  to  think  of  a  man  complaining  of  lone 
liness  with  thousands  of  wretches  yearning  for  his 
help  and  comfort,  with  endless  opportunities  for  work 
and  company,  with  hundreds  of  pleasant  and  de 
lightful  things  to  do !  Just  to  think  of  it ! '  It 
put  me  in  a  great  fury  at  myself  to  think  of  it.  I 
tried  pretty  hard  to  escape  from  myself,  and  began 


MR.  BLUFF'S  EXPERIENCES  OF  HOLIDA  VS.     291 

inventing  excuses  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  but  I 
rigidly  forced  myself  to  look  squarely  at  my  own 
conduct.  And  then  I  reconciled  my  conscience  by 
declaring  that,  if  ever  after  that  day  I  hated  a  holi 
day  again,  might  my  holidays  end  at  once  and  for 
ever ! 

"  Did  I  go  and  see  my  protegees  again  ?  What 
a  question !  Why — well,  no  matter.  If  the  widow 
is  comfortable  now,  it  is  because  she  has  found  a 
way  to  earn  without  difficulty  enough  for  her  few 
wants.  That's  no  fault  of  mine.  I  would  have 
done  more  for  her,  but  she  wouldn't  let  me.  But 
just  let  me  tell  you  about  New- Year's — the  New- 
Year's -day  that  followed  the  Christmas  I've  been 
describing.  It  was  lucky  for  me  there  was  another 
holiday  only  a  week  off.  Bless  you  !  I  had  so 
much  to  do  that  day  that  I  was  completely  be 
wildered,  and  the  hours  weren't  half  long  enough. 
I  did  make  a  few  social  calls,  but  then  I  hurried 
them  over ;  and  then  hastened  to  my  little  girl, 
whose  face  had  already  caught  a  touch  of  color; 
and  she,  looking  quite  handsome  in  her  new  frock 
and  her  ribbons,  took  me  to  other  poor  folk,  and — 
well,  that's  about  the  whole  story. 

"  Oh,  as  to  the  next  Christmas.  Well,  I  didn't 
dine  alone,  as  you  may  guess.  It  was  up  three 
stairs,  that's  true,  and  there  was  none  of  that  ele- 


292  BACHELOR  BLUFF. 

gance  that  marked  the  dinner  of  the  year  before  ; 
but  it  was  merry,  and  happy,  and  bright;  it  was  a 
generous,  honest,  hearty,  Christmas  dinner,  that  it 
was,  although  I  do  wish  the  widow  hadn't  talked 
so  much  about  the  mysterious  way  a  turkey  had 
been  left  at  her  door  the  night  before.  And  Molly 
— that's  the  little  girl — and  I  had  a  rousing  appetite. 
We  went  to  church  early ;  then  we  had  been  down 
to  the  Five  Points  to  carry  the  poor  outcasts  there 
something  for  their  Christmas  dinner ;  in  fact,  we 
had  done  wonders  of  work,  and  Molly  was  in  high 
spirits,  and  so  the  Christmas  dinner  was  a  great 
success. 

"  Dear  me,  sir,  no  !  Just  as  you  say.  Holidays 
are  not  in  the  least  wearisome  any  more.  Plague 
on  it !  When  a  man  tells  me  now  that  he  hates 
holidays,  I  find  myself  getting  very  wroth.  I  pin 
him  by  the  button-hole  at  once,  and  tell  him  my 
experience.  The  fact  is,  if  I  were  at  dinner  on  a 
holiday,  and  anybody  should  ask  me  for  a  senti 
ment,  I  should  say,  *  God  bless  all  holidays ! ' " 


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